


A Road Connected

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Mycroft Being A Stalker, Past Drug Addiction, Past Relationship(s), Possessive Sherlock, Recreational Drug Use, Romance, Sarcasm, Sexual Tension, Sherlock Holmes is Bad at Feelings, Sherlock's Violin, SherlockXReader, Smutish, doctoring
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-02-21 05:26:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 78,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2456444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being the new tenant of 221B has had its ups and downs, and you had barely just arrived there. You had come to London for you work and to forget your past, but with Mycroft constantly up your ass and his curious detective brother as a neighbor it's becoming increasingly harder to focus. Keeping your past at bay is not an easy task, especially when the more it comes undone, the deeper the connection gets to Sherlock's present. [SherlockxReader][Eventual Smut][Sexual Tension!]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Relations

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all, this is my first fanfic and I have no beta reader so if there are any mistakes I apologize! This work is also posted on my Deviantart, it's my work I promise (:  
> Comments are appreciated; I hope you enjoy ^_^

Your delicate fingers traced the lines of the crisp, white paper over and over again. ‘You have been accepted to…’, were the words your pointer finger kept feeling, the slight bump where ink had hit blank parchment, as if roaming over it would cause the reality to finally sink in. You half expected the letters to shift into the negative response your brain kept telling you to expect, or for it to disintegrate into thin air all together. A sudden stop of the cab knocked you into reality, focusing your eyes on street names you didn’t recognize in a city you didn’t barely remembered, but it had already begun to feel closer like home. A few minutes passed before the light turned, tall statuesque buildings began to blur together, blending laughing and smiling faces into one blob after another. Everything was a blur, these past 48 hours hardly seemed realistic to you and yet gave you a warm feeling deep in your core. With a small sigh, you ran your fingers through your messy hair then turned your attention to your messenger bag rummaging through it trying to find your cell. No messages, a few emails and a missed call from the man you had been avoiding since your plane landed months ago. You had never been so flustered in an airport before, having to tell your story over and over again. The anger that you pushed down crept up again, like an illness that had long subsided its affects only to flare up during moments of insecurity and loneliness. 

“S’cuse me miss, I believe this is your stop” the voice from the driver’s seat chimed. You blinked a few times trying to regain your composure, as you were about to meet your new land lady. You peered through the window, tilting your head up to see a dark door marked ‘221B’ surrounded by white bricks and busy streets. You thanked your driver and gathered your bag, stretching your legs out of the car before getting out completely. It had been a long, but necessary drive from your hotel you had been living in the past few months, staying under the radar as much as you could. Your first day of residency had finally arrived, and it hit you like a ton of bricks that you needed to find a place in the city, and fast. Which has how you had stumbled upon the basement apartment of Mrs. Hudson, a friend of a friend knew a colleague who lived in the building and helped you out via text messages and emails. Jim? Jerry? You couldn’t remember his name, whipping out your phone as you walked up the steps to knock on the door. Clicking your email icon you scrolled through past messages while holding your hand in a fist to knock on the door and hopefully figure out this damn name that seemed lost to you. As soon as your hand made contact you knew that it whatever you had hit, was definitely not a door. Your eyes shifted forward, face to chest with a long trench coat and scarf connected to a presence that seemed to radiate dominance and passion. Your eyes finally locked with the owner of the scarf and you were met with piercing blue-green eyes, your breath hitched in your throat. 

“Uhm, Hello?” you managed to squeak out. 

He said nothing, just looked down at your knuckles that were still on him. You quickly removed your hand and shoved it down in your pocket, before you spoke again.

“I’m ___ and I’m here about the apartment downstairs are you..?” you couldn’t even finish your sentence before his voice interrupted your train of though and quickly set your mind on a path somewhere it had not been for quite some time.

“Stripper.” One word, one colorful word had come out of his mouth. You paused, staring at him with your eyebrows furrowing and your mouth still partially open. Why the hell does he think I’m a stripper?

“Your nails are done but not painted, your make up is still freshly put on even though you endured about a 2 hour cab ride judging by your tangled hair and wrinkled jacket. Your things arrived early, all of which contained expensive furniture, shoes, clothes, only a few boxes with books in them which I doubt you read anymore, and since you’re moving into the basement flat you are bad with budgeting because you have a compulsive shopping problem with a slight obsession with material items.” He finished his sentence with a halfhearted smile, folding his hands together. Silence. The wind whipped your hair all around you, causing an unintentional shiver to radiate down your spine. Or was that the intense shock and annoyance mixing in your belly from this presumptuous asshat of a man who decided he knew everything about you before you even muttered a full sentence. Being a bit of a narcissist yourself, you let your words tumble out before thinking about the consequences. 

“Call me Cinnamon, it’s my stage name.” You smiled and pushed him aside with one arm and bounded up the stairs, suddenly remembering why you were there in the first place. You knocked on the door loudly, waiting for the door at the bottom of the stairs to shut but you heard nothing. You peered down the stairwell, seeing his mop of curly hair standing the doorway, staring down at his phone then back out at the street again. When the door open you were caught by surprise a little, falling slightly backward before a hand shot out to catch your arm. He was shorter than Sherlock, had a friendlier face and hopefully wouldn’t also call you a stripper.

“I thought your name was ___ , not Cinnamon” he laughed lightly, holding his hand out to shake yours. You smiled and extended your hand, you had almost forgotten he actually knew why you were here.

“Don’t let him know he’s wrong yet I’d like to see how this continues,” you said coolly, looking back down at the stairs, he was still standing there. Was he listening?

“Yes” Sherlock yelled flatly. Fuck

“Well he’s going to bother you until he finds out, so you better get used to it” John sighed as he shut the door to his own flat and started down the stairs. 

“I’ll show you your new home, Mrs. Hudson is on holiday unfortunately so she has asked me and Sherlock to help make sure you’re all moved in. Here are your keys, and everything should be in your flat, I’ve got to run to the clinic so if you need anything…don’t ask Sherlock he probably won’t be helpful” You smiled and fumbled with your keys as you watched him walk towards the tall, dark haired detective who had managed to piss you off and turn you on in a matter of five minutes. His sleek frame still stood blocking the door way as if he was waiting for someone else to arrive; he stared at John but refused to budge when he approached him. The two started a silent argument under their breathe and you took that as your cue to leave. Your hands shook as you turned the doorknob, unsure if it was from the pure exhaustion or realization that you had to be at work in 45 minutes. Oh shit, you had to be at work in 45 god damn minutes. You flung open your door and were greeted by stacks of boxes everywhere, your L shaped couch blocking your view of what looked like the box you needed. Clumsily, you leaped towards it, ripping the box open and haphazardly throwing unneeded clothes and undergarments to the ground. Then you heard it, the sound of a voice that spoke in that sarcastic tone you’d come to hate. You stopped, flopped on your belly, head in a cardboard box with your black jeans over your shoulder and grey sweater in one hand expecting what you had been dreading since your hell of an experience at the airport in New York. Mycroft.

“I know you’re in here” he belted, heavy footsteps coming down the stairs. The shuffling from above had to be John and Sherlock, you wondered if they had any idea what was going on.

“I’m right here, Mycroft” Sherlock stated annoyed, obviously tagging along down the stairs.

“I am not looking for you, you twit” Mycroft spat back, almost at your door. Maybe if you could just disappear into this box..

You were suddenly yanked by your waist up and out of your partial hiding spot and spun around to face all three men, staring at you. Sherlock’s expression seemed to constantly switch from intrigue to annoyance while John just looked confused as hell. You sighed, grinding your teeth together, looking for an escape route and had came up with three in your head before Mycroft laid a hand on your shoulder, shaking you slightly.

“Well ___ you did a good job hiding from me, but interesting choice choosing the same flat my brother lives in” 

What? Your face showed your extreme frustration as did the sweater you just now ruined, balling it up with your fist causing it to wrinkle. Good, now you would have to find a new shirt, and get your ass to work while dealing with this twat. You looked between the Holmes’ brothers, suddenly the connection made sense. The instant anger with Sherlock, his tone and his presence which mimicked Mycroft. Though the detective didn’t seem to understand that his powerful demeanor had an effect on people, his constant state of perceptiveness blurred between the lines of constant awareness and distracting curiosity. His sexual appeal didn’t seem to hit him like it did you, the need you felt to tangle those chocolate locks of curly hair into your fingers, to intertwine your lips with his that slight pout causing your neurons to fire at an alarming rate. Before you knew what was happening, the sarcasm and foot-in-mouth-syndrome that seemed to be a permanent staple coursing through your veins caused you to utter a sentence that gave both of them the upper hand you were trying so hard to keep out of their reach.

“Seems you both are sarcastic twits, but at least your brother is pretty, Mycroft.” 

You could cut the tension with a knife, or you could cut your tongue out. Maybe both with the same slice, then maybe you could stop getting into trouble for once. It took a few moments to register as Mycroft’s face shifted into a stern statue trying to hold back whatever anger he wished to rain upon you, John had his mouth half open staring in disbelief, while Sherlock whom had probably never been called ‘pretty’ stared into your eyes like he was trying to read whatever thought gave you the idea to mutter that sentence. You stared right back at him, refusing to be intimidated by him and you watched his lips curve up into a slight smile. You winked. What was wrong with you?

“As much as I’d like to sit here and talk about my brother’s prospects of becoming the pretty little woman you seem to think he is, you know I’m here to tell you I’m watching out for you and to stay out of trouble” 

“Watching out, or watching over?” You asked annoyed while tapping your foot.

“You know what I-“ 

“Yes, yes I get it I’m not allowed to blah blah blah now do all three of you mind I’m going to be late for work and unlike some people, I actually have to do important things with my life” You said as you tossed your wrinkled sweater from your hands and grabbed a purple cardigan and white tank top from the pile of clothes strewn about your living room. Not wanting to give any hints about your doings, you rushed over to another box and grabbed your things for work, shoving them into your messenger bag and walked swiftly to the door. John and Sherlock moved aside, still staring at you like you had two heads. You signaled them to get out of your flat so you could lock the door. Sherlock stayed to the side, letting Mycroft and you go up the stairs ahead of him. Did he just look at my ass? You watched him out of the corner of your eye as his shifted his gaze from what looked like your backside back to John, you were on the last step when you bumped into Mycroft who was standing like a guard dog in front of the door.

“Now, do I have your word-“ 

“For god’s sake MOVE MYCROFT!” You shouted using all your force to push him against the wall. He landed with a large thud, and you swore you could hear snickering coming from the stairs that was quickly hushed my Mycroft’s angered tone. You leaped down the steps, half jogging while realizing you needed to change before you arrived. Fuck, guess I’ll just change in the cab. You hailed a female cab driver, threw her an extra wad of cash and jumped in the backseat. It was blurry in your mind right now, everything had been a whirlwind of unrelated yet connected events. The last one being particularly interesting, as you wrestled your jeans off all you could think about was that last little smirk you saw. When you arrived at the Hospital you showed the security guard your badge, adding a little bounce to your step as you entered the locker room. You changed quickly, throwing your scrub top over your head while simultaneously grabbing your lab coat and running towards the larger group of surgical residences chattering away. Like magic, your mind flipped that switch that turned you from a puddle of sarcastic, damaged catastrophe of a girl into a surgeon with nerves of steel and hands that worked like robots. Promising precise movements, perfection, everything you had been told you could never be. You relived the moment when your PHD from Stanford had arrive, shoving it in your father’s face. That moment you worked your ass off for was finally here, and with an added bonus. Those eyes swiftly passed through your memory, that smirk, the smell of nicotine and lab chemicals mixed with his natural musk had permanently stuck in his nose. You smiled inwardly, it had been one hell of a day.


	2. Guilt & Trickery

He stood silently plucking the strings of his violin, his face twisted into an annoyed frown. The strings stretched with the pressure his fingers put on them, making a noise that sounded closely like a cat dying halfway in tune. John gritted his teeth and glared at the man making the once quiet apartment alive with horrendous sounds, seeing only the back of his head over his computer screen. It had been three days of this, three days of his whining about boredom and lack of cases. He thought the call from Lestrade would have ended his misery; a triple murder of political heads would have usually given Sherlock a spring in his step. Sadly, Sherlock seemed more annoyed after they had returned from the crime scene as the detective went over details aloud for a few hours then picked up the violin and seemed to be intent on giving John an aneurism.

Watching the streets of London below him he waited and waited and waited. Your schedule had been so random he had hardly seen you. His brain collectively going over each time you had come home for a few hours then seemed be off again for another eighteen at a time. You weren’t a stripper as John had reiterated the fact after your brush with his brother. Call girl? No, out too long and no men had dropped by. Whenever you arrived home for your short periods of time you were always in a cab or walking from the tube station. His mind palace was a mess, it was your fault and he would be damned if he didn’t catch you on your off hours to ask the questions that had been burning down his organization for three straight days. Every time he tried to create the case at hand, the tiny little box in the corner of his mind jumped out at him full of questions and deductions he wanted—no needed to share with you. He sighed and threw his violin on the couch huffing towards his chair when he heard a cab pull up. Your head dipped out of the cab as you waved a goodbye and made your way to the door.

“FINALLY” he shouted, startling John.

“What are you on about?” He asked cleaning up the tea he had spilled on his lap from Sherlock’s sudden outburst. Without a word Sherlock hastily made his way to the door stopping only to slow his pace down and walk down two flights of stairs to your door. He straightened his jacket, held his head up and quickly took the box from the corner of his mine and made two organized lists before he let himself into your flat.

 

Letting out an exasperated sigh you flopped down onto your white couch and promptly grabbed one of your lavender pillows and let out a loud scream into. Hoping the pillow would trap your noise and maybe take your problems with it. Three days with 18 hour shifts and barely any sleep would drive anyone mad, but on top of the sleep deprivation you had made little to no friends there and Mycroft had sent a letter to your boss stating that at any time he could come and check up on you. You hated that man and as you envisioned stabbing his eyeballs out with a scalpel your door flung open hitting the wall with a loud smack.

“You’re the daughter of someone important, obviously someone who is above Mycroft considering he came over himself to actually do something instead of sending his lackies. You aren’t a stripper so John tells me but your taste in expensive things means you came from a well to-do family whose values of women are purely based on their ability to look nice and marry well. Your daddy issues are due to the fact that he expected too much of you as a child or maybe just ignored you all together, so maybe an escort of some sort to bring shame to him? Either way you have done enough negative things to get his attention which is why my brother has been sent to look after you” he paused to take a breath as you stared at the ceiling grinding your teeth.

“Why does my profession always mean I’m selling my body to men?” you asked, inhaling deeply as to not also stab this brother in the eye with a scalpel.

“I already explained this to you, am I wrong?” He asked, cocking his eyebrow. You sat up still holding your pillow to your chest, staring into his eyes. You could get lost in those eyes, yet his constant assumption that your interest in looking nice meant you had to be some sort of harlot made you irritated and sort of flattered at the same time. 

“I am NOT a stripper I am NOT an escort the only men that a see me naked are the men I dream about with the five seconds of sleep I get” you said annoyed throwing your pillow at his face. He quickly dodged it and opened his mouth to say something until he saw something hanging from your furthest wall by the window. He couldn’t make out the letters but it looked like a degree, squinting at it he walked towards it. 

“Do you want tea or coffee?” you asked making your way from the couch to the kitchen. This stopped him in his tracks as he pivoted on his heels to face you. 

“What was I right about?”

“Mostly everything. Except my profession.” You sighed putting water into the kettle and setting the burner on high.

“Daddy issues are correct in the aspect of him ignoring me mostly, family values were spot on including my taste and the reason I always make myself look presentable without even thinking about it. I am very much a compulsive shopper, I do like expensive things but it’s what I’m used to. I have nothing against lower quality either. Though my budget is not the reason I’ve decided to live in this flat” 

He said nothing as he watched you pull out two mugs from a box sitting on the counter. The teakettle whistled signaling it was ready, you poured the steaming water into the cups. You handed him his mug, both of you watching each other’s movements.

“You like games, correct?” You asked him. His response was a simple nod, while his eyes shifted between you and the state of your flat. Boxes still piled but now organized by room, you had managed to get most of your kitchen together while your living room had the couch and TV in place. A sleek, black desk sat in front of the window with your laptop and a few books stacked by a small vase with purple orchids. The sunlight filtered in through the blinds, giving light the chance to shine on your guest. You took him in, his well tailored suit clung to him outlining his toned arms and thin waist. You let your eyes linger on his firm hands, fingers laced around the cup while the other fumbled with his shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles nears his abdomen.

“If you can guess my career, I won’t kiss you” you state flatly. He shrugged as you hopped on the edge of the counter motioning him closer to you with your finger. He set the mug down without changing his facial expression as his long legs brought him to you. You laced your fingers around the edges of his jacket pulling his face close to yours. The faint sound of his breath sounded like purring, almost as enticing as the scent of him and his closeness brought a warm feeling that radiated from every fiber of your being. He brought his nose so that it rested a quarter of an inch away from yours, you watched his hands steady himself on either side of you, leaning in so that your eyes were level as his lips danced dangerously close to yours.

“Surgeon” he said with a smile. You kept your face straight and slowly let go of his jacket but he did not move from his stance. He watched you as you averted your eyes to anything that could get your mind off taking his lips for yours regardless of the little game you had just created. That never usually backfired, you had always gotten the man you wanted most to underestimate you and consequently assume you work field was always secretary or nanny. You wondered how he came to that conclusion or if John had just flat out told him, how gazing around your apartment gave you away. Nothing medical was anywhere, any books or references you had on your kindle which was hidden away in your messenger bag and your lab coat hung in your locker at the hospital. You looked up as he stood up and straightened his jacket, grabbing the mug and taking a sip.

“You don’t look intelligent” 

You narrowed your eyes as that sentence registered in your brain. You opened your mouth in protest but then as your mind always did, it took apart each word and switched it around. His mannerisms and high intellect obviously put a dead stop to any social grace he was born with if he was even born with any. You let a small smile creep from your lips as you glanced at him, clearly waiting for some sort of sarcastic retort.

“You think I’m pretty” you said happily, hoping down from the counter and giving him a hug. He stiffened at that response like you knew he would. The way his mind worked made him even more attractive to you, you would love to see the paths his neurons took and how they formed his personality that seemed to be void of any outward emotion other than being annoyed or intrigued. 

“Normally people get offended by me”

“You speak the truth in most cases. The way your brain works is amazing. The countless hours I could spend dissecting it would be wonderful. Your lack of social skills is actually quite funny to me. I also understand that the assumption of women who are interested in the way they look is shallow and vain. Telling me I don’t look intelligent isn’t something I haven’t heard before, you just sate it bluntly rather than dancing around it.”

Without a word he set his cup down and walked passed you peering at the degree hanging on the wall.

“I thought that’s what it was, I couldn’t fully make it out. Most people don’t hang their degrees unless they’re overly proud and want to show it off. Most doctor’s don’t show off though, other than surgeons. They’re sharks, they over achieve and want everyone to know it. Sometimes they have a god complex, but your ambition is obviously fueled by your need to prove people wrong. Also you only ever buy fruit from the store and that’s how you practice your stitching. Different fruits are closer to human skin and organs and I presume they don’t want you messing up on a real person.” He turned and smiled the first genuine smile you had seen. It looked good on him the way it made his eyes crinkle up and his cheeks puff out a little. Your thoughts were interrupted by a loud beeping sound setting off your inner doctor alarm that you needed to find your pager.

“Fucking Fuckery where the hell” you wailed searching frantically around your flat throwing pillows and tossing clothes every which way. You finally found that little ball of technology that often gave your heart the swelling of happiness soon followed by guilt knowing that someone was injured. You got to be the one to save them and that was the heart swelling happiness that pushed you through till the end. As soon as you found it, Sherlock got a text which also made his heart swell since he clapped his hands together and raced towards the stairs. 

“Hail a cab ___, looks like we both need to go to the hospital. JOOOOOHHHHNNNNNN” he called from the stairs causing you to jump a little. You grabbed your bag and hurried to the door just as John came bounding down the stairs pulling on his jumper. You hailed a cab and swung the door open with the two boys close behind you. Sherlock sat in the middle while John sat facing you, giving you a small smirk. The cab ride went by quickly as you texted your one friend you made about the patient.

‘Political figure shot twice, one bullet grazed his head while the other penetrated his left ventricle’

Your swift fingers quickly responded, eagerly asking if you would be part of the heart repair or the boring plastics repair to fix his ear. You felt slight breathing on your ear when you turned your head and felt Sherlock’s nose hit your cheek, flustering you a bit. 

“Can I help you?” you asked trying not moving yourself too much. The intoxicating aroma that always came off that man drove you insane, just the slightest contact sent electrical shock waves to course over you. You tried to hide your smile but you knew your body well enough that it was not hiding your dilating eyes and your pulse was rapidly increasing. Of course he knew it too, he paused before answering moving himself away from you too look directly into your eyes.

“This is the fourth assassination and the first one to mess up—I wanted to make sure that it was the same shooter. Once in the head once in the heart so either the shooter was spotted or they flinched. I doubt this man will survive considering his wounds, so I’ll need you to give me the bullet fragments since you’ll be helping repair his heart shortly before he dies”

You stared at him wide eyed. How could he ask you to do such a thing? 

“The police will get the fragments Sherlock, you’re asking her to risk her job”

“You know they’re all idiots and them inspecting the bullet is equivalent to a bear trying to drive a car. It’s more important that I see it”

“More important than her job?”

He paused and before he could answer the cab stopped. You ignored both of them and flew into the hospital doors not bothering with security. You hurried through the lobby and up the three flights of stairs ignoring the elevator, to get to the locker room. You flung off your clothes and threw on your last remaining pair of scrubs that weren’t covered in some sort of human substance and headed towards the surgical wing. Time started slowing down as it always did, a symphony starting in the back of your head as you made it through the sliding doors to the scrub room. Turning the water on with the foot pump, you let the magical sound of drops turning into a waterfall hit the metal basin as your took the bar of soap and scrubbed your hands and forearms. Watching the scene unfold in front of you like a play, machines being set up, the anesthesiologist checking over his doses and preparing the patient to go under. Scrub nurses readying the tables with the instruments you practiced holding while in cab rides or the tube, you let the soap sit on your hands for two minutes before washing it off, checking under your fingernails. You grabbed a mask and tied it slowly while an intern placed a scrub cap on your head, you held your hands up as you entered the sterile environment. You let yourself be draped and gloved as your smile grew so big you were thankful for the mask that hid it. You stepped up to the table with two other residents, standing opposite the cardiac attending and their fellow, waiting for you direction. The slow motion slowly started to speed up and everything seemed to be happening at once, the patient was open and you stared directly at the damage such a small bulk of metal could do to a body. Then you remembered Sherlock’s words about how this man would most likely die, he seemed almost hopeful he would. He had to have made some sort of connection with the other three like there was some big secret they had all been in on. Was it bad? Good? Affairs with other women, other men, hiding money in swiss bank accounts? You shook your head because none of that mattered, the person on the table was always a blank slate. Your oath forbade you to see good or bad, all you saw was a human who needed saving. As you began to suction around the impalement in the ventricle, the tube filling fast with the man’s blood you saw the bullet. You had seen bullets before, some shattered upon impact and others just smashed into their target flattening on themselves. As they extracted the bullet and set it into the basin the corner of your eye noticed an etching on the bullet. It looked like a carving, initials of some sort. You could make out the letter ‘E’ then the sound of your attending snapped you back to your job. 

“___ Suction now! He’s going to bleed out soon if we don’t replace his blood volume!” He shouted. A nurse quickly left the room to go get more blood, and you tried to control the bleeding. The thought in the back of your mind was Sherlock and his request. You knew the stories after asking around the first day you met him, he always was the one to solve the mystery. He had the best intentions even if he went about it the wrong way. Everyone was so focused on saving him that they wouldn’t notice. Probably wouldn’t care either. You glanced to the side, eyeing the bullet once more before his heart monitor began an alarming sound that meant one thing. You quickly removed your hands as the internal paddles were brought to the attending. 

“CLEAR!” 

The first shock did nothing as everyone stood with their hands up, waiting for the man’s heart to start beating again. Three seconds passed

“Charge to three hundred, CLEAR!” 

Five seconds passed, the monitor still wailing as his stats dipped even lower.

“Charge to four hundred, CLEAR!”

The wailing ceased as you watched his heart slowly start beating again diving in along with everybody to continue to stop his bleeding. 

“Hollis, grab ___’s tube and continue suctioning. ___ grab the clamp and do a ventricular clamp so I have better access to the heart”

Your heart skipped a beat, handing the suction over to the intern to your right and taking the clamp from the scrub nurse with your left. You eased your fingers into it, lowering it to clamp to its destination and held it there while the cardiac god before you worked to stop the bleeding. His hands worked magic, slowly but cautiously stitching up the mess the bullet had created. You were mesmerized by how such small incisions with a needle saved a life, like sewing a button on shirt but the risk much higher if one was to stitch the wrong area. You sighed to yourself hoping one day to reach the magnificent glory of an attending though your focus was more on neuro. As much as the heart had its interesting points the four chamber organ was boring to you, its movements simple and precise yet repetitive. If your heart had blockage you received a CABG surgery to graft and help move blood flow and oxygen to keep you from dying. The repairs were always intricate but the design of the heart itself was nothing to write home about, now the brain had personality which is why you wanted it as your specialty. Though a well rounded general surgery education would benefit it often seemed mundane compared to neurosurgery. 

“Well done ___, would you like to close?” 

Oh shit that was your name, he was asking you if you wanted to close the heart. You almost jumped over the body to hug him but instead opted for a head nod as you handed the clamp to another resident. You were holding out your hands when a nurse came in calling your name saying you were needed outside for an emergency. 

“Right now?” you whined glancing to your side noticing the resident holding the clamp smirked behind their mask. 

“Go on ___, but be quick about it” said the attending. You cursed under your breath having a slight idea who was behind this so called emergency. You flung your gloves off, taking the time to just undo the top of your scrub mask so it hung loosely around your neck as you jogged out of the O.R. into the hallway sharply taking your turns to the door to the main hallway. You saw his face from a few feet away as anger boiled up inside you. You walked up to him hands on your hips and a scowl on your face waiting for him to speak.

“What is it Sherlock, I was just about to close a heart! You better actually be dying or I’ll give you a real reason to visit the O.R.” you half yelled.

He was staring at you again with that lop sided smile as if he was attempting to hide his curiosity from you. That tingly feeling in his gut made an appearance again, like it did every time he was near you. This feeling was neither curiosity nor intrigue it was something genuine that he would have to figure out how to ignore later. He needed to give you something but couldn’t take his eyes off the way you glimmered slightly sweaty at your brow from being in surgery. Your scrubs hung loosely at your hips, your top jostled to the side with blood splattered on your stomach. His eyes roamed up your chest and to your neck, your skin looked so soft and an ache from deep within pushed him forward. Before he could stop himself his hand was on your cheek caressing it softly. You stopped breathing as his hand touched your skin, it felt cold compared to your raised temperature. Your breath came back to you once his baritone voice found its way into your ears.

“I don’t ask for things, but I need you to do this for me” he said as his hand found its way down your collar bone and brushed over the small pocket at the breast of your scrub top. You felt a tiny weight plunk in there as he turned around making his coat flutter around his legs. That was all he had to say? No please? Just hey while you’re in there learning why don’t you just steal this for me. You huffed as you turned around and headed quickly back to the O.R. with your hand on your pocket, feeling a small smashed bullet in there. Your head was spinning, it’s not like you were taking it and giving it to the bad guy right? Could you really get in trouble for handing over police evidence to someone who was kind of like the police? Shaking the thoughts from your head you went to scrub, as the tap turned on you looked up through the window to the O.R. just as that bitch of a resident was finishing sewing the last bit up. Without thinking you ran to the door holding your arms up to retire your mask.

“Sorry ___ Mr. Leighton couldn’t wait and Devon offered. Maybe next time, we’re almost done here so unless you’re on call you can go.” He waved you off. Fucking bitch you seethed in your head but your eyes told a different story. You gave a big enough smile so that your eyes crinkled a little and nodded.  
“Can I take the bullet down to the police at least, I feel awful for having to you with Devon” you cooed. Dr. Sutton smiled politely before waving his hand over to the metal basin that held the bullet. You shuffled over to it, picking it up and bringing towards the back of the room to grab an evidence bag. You quietly slipped the bullet from your pocket into the wedge between your pointer and middle finger, as your other gloved hand picked up the bullet from the basin. You grabbed the bag with steady hands and dropped the bullet from between your wedged fingers while carefully tucking the engraved one into your palm. You turned, gave another graceful smile and bowed out towards the exit. Stuffing the bullet into your pocket you strolled towards the entrance where you knew the police were waiting. You spied Sherlock and John in the circle, Sherlock was arguing with a taller gentleman. John looked over and waved as you walked casually over to one of the uniformed cops.

“I believe this belongs to you” you said with a smile as you dropped the evidence bag into the cops hands.

“If there is nothing more you need to rant on about Sherlock, we will be leaving. This is clearly a terrorist related string of murders and attempted murder, you aren’t needed” said the white haired man as he gave you a quick smile.  
“Thank you Doctor” and with that him and his group of police officers strolled away.

“Well there you have it Sherlock, you can’t help them with this case. Its going up higher than Lestrade and I doubt your brother will allow you to join him” John stated with a sigh as he walked towards the exit alone. You did everything in your power to look distracted by the fake potted plants cast aside the dark green waiting chairs. You ran your hands down your scrub top straightening wrinkles that weren’t really there. He stood silently watching you trying to push down the urge he had to comfort you. You were clearly upset with him and trying to hide it and he couldn’t understand why. He had asked you to do something simple, he never asks anybody and you should feel special for him even bothering to ask for your help. He took a baby step in your direction wondering if you had actually done it.

The look you gave him sent a wave of emotion that he had never felt before. Guilt. Your eyes threw daggers at him and behind those daggers a sea of tears threatened to spill over the threshold. You held it together; you flexed and balled both of your fists up a few times before speaking. He could hear your pulse rapidly increase then decrease as you tried to get it under control. He was doing the same thing with the emotions he felt, pushing them down further so they would stop interrupting him.

“You took me away from learning and doing an advanced medical procedure that I probably won’t be able to do again for some time, Sherlock. I knew you were selfish and self absorbed but I didn’t think you would take it to a level that actually effected me personally. Here’s your stupid bullet I hope you enjoy its company you ignorant twit” you squeaked out that last bit as you shoved the bullet into his face and dropped it on the floor. Your shoes screeched as you turned and walked as fast as you could to the elevator. All you wanted was to go home and scream into your pillow. You felt betrayed, the small connection you thought you had created with him shattered like thin glass. You looked up into the lights waiting for the elevator door to close praying the tears would wait until you were in the privacy of a bathroom stall. As the ding of the elevator brought its door closed you saw him staring at you with a pained expression. You looked away hoping that maybe you had gotten through that thick skull or maybe you could just stop caring all together.

Never in his life had he ever felt something so earth shattering. He felt like the walls were slowly fading around him into a blinding white light while everyone else blurred around him. Just you and him alone in this white out universe, your eyes swelling with tears as the metal doors closed around your face. Your hair framed your features so delicately it made you look younger than you were. He looked down at the bullet you dropped instantly realizing that it was indeed engraved with something and as he looked up you were gone. His chest felt like it was caving in he watched the numbers above it light up. Floor four, he would have to remember that’s where your locker room was. As he picked up the bullet her turned around to exit with John whom was staring at him with disbelief.

“Not now John” 

The pair walked towards the exit silently as Sherlock took a quick mind detour and opened the box with your name on it. He mentally stamped a today’s date on a blank paper with an ‘I.O.U’ written on it. He shoved it back in the box as he brought himself back to his actual location. Stepping out into the crisp chill of the fall night he took off towards the flat.

“Cab Sherlock?” John asked as he watched the tall man walk away.

“Good night for a walk, John” he said. He needed time to think about you and the best possible way to make it up to you without anyone realizing what he was actually doing. Until he figured out for himself how he felt about, well having emotions—he didn’t want anyone else to know what was going on. Crossing the street and weaving between cars, he noticed an ambulance lifting a body in a black bag onto the stretcher and an idea popped into his head. He knew exactly how to make it up to you.


	3. Tuned

You half slumped half slammed your back into the row of lockers, cursing as your body betrayed you, causing your exhaustion to over take your intentions of gracefully leaning against the locker. Your head smacked hard while you slid down onto your bottom refusing to fight any longer. You closed your eyes letting the dim lighting of the locker room fade out as a few other residents wrestled with their things. Instead of going home after the bullet incident you decided to stay on an extra hour to help with the ER staff shortage and thank the gods you did. A man who had been accidently shot by his drunk brother-in-law wielding a nail gun had been rushed in, having 8 nails sticking out of his skull. Surprisingly the patient was awake and fully aware of what was happening, and the head neurosurgeon had asked you to scrub in with him. It had been a long 12 hour surgery to remove the nails and it had to be done hastily to reduce the change of infection yet so tedious as not to disrupt any brain matter or sever the optic nerve that had housed two of the nails just millimeters above. The surgery had gone successfully, and while you were in there you had noticed the man had a small aneurism that was almost punctured by a nail. Since you were the one that caught it, you got to clip it all by your big surgeon girl self. The happiness had washed away Sherlock’s inhumanities of the day as you sighed when his face came into view of yours. You reached out to touch it as it slowly disappeared, likely a hallucination brought on by your lack of sleep. You were so un-caffeinated it hurt your soul. Your legs wobbled as you pulled yourself up and grabbed your things to head home. 

The fresh air of the autumn morning hit your nostrils whirling scents of pine and rain in your nose. You inhaled deeply letting your arms swing out as you did a little twirl on the sidewalk ignoring the looks you got from other sidewalk inhabitants. They didn’t understand the rush that surgery gave you, the addiction that fueled your awakening every time you got near the O.R. floor. It was your happy place and you’d be damned if you let anyone take that away from you. You picked up your pace as you saw a cab idling by and you decided to grab it before anyone else did. Opening the door you looked behind you before sliding in halfway until something blocking you abruptly made its appearance. 

“Oh for the love of-“ you sighed too tired to show any sort of anger.

“Listen to me” the detective said not bothering to look in your direction. You wondered how the hell he managed to get the cab driver to sit here, had he been here all night? You looked at the back of his head as his fingers tugged on his jacket sleeve, pulling at a loose string.

“Did you get in trouble?” he asked nonchalantly. 

“Nobody even noticed. Besides you know that’s not why I was angry” you huffed crossing your arms. He sighed delicately and finally turned towards you, his eyes slightly sunken in from the lack of sleep. You softened your gaze a little wondering if he had waited for you this whole time. 

“I know. But the engravings helped connect the dots together for me. All four of them were involved in human trafficking. Children mostly, the bullet belonged to one of their victims who escaped. He is still on the run, and what seemed to have caused him to miss was the man’s daughter appeared from behind the car. Lestrade has sent his men on a witch hunt- this man is too smart to be caught by the likes of them. His name was Elliot Kingston. I’m assuming he’s probably hiding somewhere in Siberia by now. At least he managed to get the job done” he was looking past you now, he felt like he wouldn’t be able to get the words out if he looked you in the eye. It still bothered him the way you had lost an opportunity to learn, and he had decided that he only was distraught because it was in the name of science. You sighed uncrossing your arms to wave your hand in front of his face. You were raised to look people in the eye when you spoke to them and you’d be damned if you didn’t get that respect from Sherlock. Social skills are not to be confused with manners, even he had to know the difference.

“He’s alive” you replied. His eyes turned from your hand to you as he sat letting the information sink in.

“Dr. Sutton is an amazing cardiothoracic surgeon and he managed to repair the damage done by the bullet, they’re doing to have to put a graft in after he is out of the ICU. The heart is functional but having a hard time circulating blood because of where it hit. He lived though” you smiled slightly as if you had anything to do with it. You wanted to, you almost did but Sherlock stole that moment from you. 

“Why are you smiling? ___, He smuggled children to do god knows what and you’re happy he lived?” he asked a little too angrily. You were startled by his question, it’s not that you were rooting for him to live. 

“I took an oath Sherlock, all people are people that need to be saved and if my skills are what did it than I’m happy. Afterwards is a different story. I’m assuming they’re going to arrest him once he can be released for which I am happy for too.” You retorted turning your attention to the driver.

“Take me home please” you said quietly. Sherlock nodded at the driver and the engine started, taking the deathly quiet pair of you to the flat. Your eyes focused on the window as you leaned your head against it trying to fight against the exhaustion that had been lingering over you. Your eyelids started to flutter as you finally retreated back and let your dreams take over. Sherlock glanced over at you and saw you asleep against the window noticing your fingers looked a little dry from being gloved for so long. He let out a yawn because he indeed had been there the whole night. He hadn’t even realized he had walked a full circle when he ran smack into the brick of the hospital, having been in his mind palace placing the pieces together. Since he was already there he decided to break into one of the skills labs (easily) and used their microscope to inspect the bullet. A few internet searches and convincing John to steal files from Lestrade before they sent them off to higher-ups, he had easily connected the dots. He wouldn’t have been able to do it without your help, which made his lips turn into a slight frown. He didn’t like that he needed your help, he didn’t like anyone helping him. His brain had tricked him again when he hailed the cab to leave while John was busy chatting up some nurse, Sherlock scowled as he was leaving him in the rearview mirror, but before the cab went five feet he asked him to stop. Which was where you found him nearly a day later, and even that gesture hadn’t eased your sourness towards him. He was about to start re organizing the box of you in his mind until a sudden harsh turn slid your body towards him and your head flopped onto his shoulder. He expected the jolt to wake you but you were so tired you just let out a little snort. He stared at you for a moment unsure of what to do, your hair smelled slightly of cinnamon as he inhaled softly. He rested his cheek on your head for a moment before wandering off with his thoughts. He didn’t understand how somebody so intelligent as you didn’t see the world in black and white. He generally didn’t care what happened to other people good or bad, and he had assumed that you would dislike having to repair a man’s heart that sold children. That was generally the thing most women get worked up about isn’t it? Yet your focus was on the medicine and healing, even for someone lacking any morals. He lifted his head realizing it was still on yours and turned towards the window clearing his throat. The scent of cinnamon still lingered on him and he noticed the smile on his face in the reflection of the window, wondering if this was going to be a permanent expression.  
\--------

You woke up with a start taking a moment to adjust your eyes. Where the fuck were you? You yawned sleepily as you rolled over and promptly fell to the floor with a thud. 

“Whhhhyyyyyy” you whined to nobody in particular. You propped yourself up on your elbows and realized you were in your own flat and you had fallen off your couch. Your bag was on the kitchen counter and you were covered by a thin blanket that had been in your bedroom. The last person you remembered being with was Sherlock, in a cab that was parked by the hospital. You pushed yourself up on your knees and stretched your arms up towards the ceiling. You looked outside your window at the pitch black night with stars dotting the usually clouded skies. It was a perfectly clear evening and your flat was a bit warm for your tastes. Getting up you took of your shirt and pulled your pants down flicking them off as you walked towards the window to let the breeze in. After a few hard yanks the window creaked open letting the faint sound of music flow into your flat. It sounded like it was coming from upstairs, just the faintest sound of a violin. You hummed with the melody closing your eyes and twirling about in your underwear and tank top. Soon you found yourself engulfed in whatever beautiful music god was playing for you as you let everything out. Spinning and bringing your hands through your tangled mess of hair you let all your worries and resentment flow from you out your fingertips like a waterfall. The mix of the breeze and finally resting had restored your humanity a little as you decided to let Sherlock off the hook. You were so engulfed in your dance you didn’t notice the door above you open or the footsteps that crept their way down to your door. The violin had stopped too but your humming had kept the tune going, as you shook your bum to the beat you had created in your head. One more set of footsteps came down from higher above which you noticed but much too late. Your door opened as you were in mid booty shake.

“SHIT, shit SORRY. OH fuck SORRY!” John said as he used his left hand to cover his eyes. You stopped and looked at him as little droplets of blood started dripping from his limp looking right arm.

“For fuck’s sake John what happened to you?” You shrieked as you ran over to the man completely forgetting you had no pants or a bra on. You grabbed his arm and pushed the draped coat he had over it onto your floor, a nasty looking gash with a shard of glass sticking out that ran a quarter up his arm sent a chill down your body. 

“It’s nothing really, but it’s my dominant arm and I can’t quite sew myself up. I was wondering if I could use your surgical skills..” he said his left arm still clamped around his eyes.

“John what are you..” another voice trailed off. Sherlock had heard John come in and was blatantly annoyed that his flat mate had left him alone for so long. He was bored, out of bullets, missing his cigarettes and needed someone to whine too. He looked past John over to you, your lean legs glistening from whatever exercise you seemed to be doing before John had barged in. Your dark blue lace panties hung perfectly on your body, exposing your hip bones to the draft that had filtered through the window. You stared at both of the men, John still closing his eyes now and using his left hand to try and press his jacket over the bleeding, Sherlock’s eyes were pointed down ward at your underwear. 

“I have on no pants” you said aloud as if nobody else had noticed. You quickly skidded behind the counter and held your hands over your chest, warmth flooding into your cheeks. 

“Go upstairs and I’ll grab my medical kit and meet you up there. Sherlock please be useful and help John control the bleeding with some gauze pads!” Sherlock met your gaze then quickly grabbed John by the shoulder leading him up to their flat. You let out a small groan of agony and slapped your hand to your forehead. For a surgeon you really weren’t that smart sometimes. You rummaged through a box in your bedroom and pulled on your Stanford sweatpants and a black t-shirt, turning to swipe up your extra medical kit from the corner of your room and headed for the stairs.

Sherlock kicked open the door to their flat as John sat in a chair removing the now blood stained jacket, he hoped you hurried as he was feeling a bit woozy. The glass wasn’t that deep but it was defiantly stuck in there and he would need a numbing agent to be able to stay conscious while you pulled it out. He sighed heavily as Sherlock stood leaning against the wall. That bastard knew what happened already but John was not in the mood to hear it.

“Say nothing Sherlock” he muttered half heartedly. The detective opted not to say anything yet, he assumed you would ask what the hell happened and he wanted to be the one to tell you. He hummed the tune he was playing earlier unintentionally as they both waited for you. 

Going up two steps at a time, you opened the door and set your kit down on the table. You pulled out a topical cream, gauze pads, and your suture kit. You quickly pulled your gloves out from the side pocket and looked at the doctor. He nodded for you to continue as you placed thumb on one side of the glass and your remaining fingers on the opposite side. You wiggled it slightly just to see how stuck it was, John winced at your movement. You bit your bottom lip as you began to ask John questions to distract him from the pain you were about to inflict. Sherlock stood still gazing between the two of you, and you felt his eyes. Trying to ignore him, you continued your conversation with John.

“So your now ex-girlfriend threw a bottle of Vodka at you because..” you asked as John and Sherlock both opened their mouth to say something. 

“Sherlock this is MY story I feel like I should be the one to tell it” John snapped at him. You looked at Sherlock motioning with your head to get on John’s right side. Surprisingly he listened, taking a few strides so that Johns head turned away from you, angrily continuing his rant to Sherlock. A few choice words were exchanged between the pair as you slowly lifted the glass from John’s arm without him noticing. You grabbed a few gauze pads from the table and began pressing them against the cut trying to get his blood to clot naturally so you could stitch his arm up. John turned to face you realizing that you had already taken the glass out.

“I didn’t feel a thing” he said. You looked up and smiled at him, grabbing his hand to press down on his own gauze pad so you could get the topical cream ready. Sherlock’s breath hitched a little at the physical exchange between the two of you. His cheeks flushed ever so slightly as he walked over to hover above you, acting interested in the simple procedure you were doing. Thankfully you were too focused on your work to be bothered with him as you placed a heavy amount of cream onto your fingers and began rubbing it around the skin you needed to close together.

“Good, I was hoping your bickering was enough to distract you. Sorry I only have topical cream, but I can write you a prescription for antibiotics and painkillers” you replied getting your sutures ready.

“Thank you, I fear if I could write my own prescriptions I’d have developed a problem” John said eying Sherlock. You laughed a little as you began to stitch his arm up, continuing your earlier conversation.

“So what happened now?” Sherlock tapped his foot impatiently as you looked up at John for an answer. He sighed in response and motioned for Sherlock to tell you.

“She got mad at him because he called her another woman’s name while they were having sex” he said like a child tattling on their sibling. You tried to hold in your laughter as you could tell John was embarrassed but considering you had just been seen dancing in your underwear you felt it was even now. You threw your stitches as fast as you could while shaking slightly with laughter. Soon John joined you and used his free hand to cover his face and place his head on the table. Sherlock was the last to join in the laughter, his velvet voice sounded delicious as a small string of laughter echoed throughout the flat. You felt him move beside you, grabbing a chair and sitting by your side as he watched your hands work. You turned to face him your knees were less than a millimeter apart. You weren’t sure but you could have sworn you a hint of happiness in his eyes, as you turned your attention back to John’s arm you heard Sherlock’s voice directed towards you.

“Will you be working tomorrow”

“No they decided to make this stupid rule about only working 70 hour weeks” you said with a groan. Normally this would seem obvious to anyone with a regular job, but you and John both knew how much training doctors needed. With a specialty like yours, the more hours you could get meant more lives you could save.   
“Why?” you asked the detective as you were on your last stitch.

“I need you to come to the Scotland Yard with me tomorrow, there’s something I have to show you” he said as he rose and headed towards the couch. You looked up at John as he shrugged his shoulders at you. You eyed Sherlock as he picked up the violin and started to play the song of your embarrassment from earlier. You couldn’t help but hum along, tapping your foot as you set down your needle and began to write John’s prescription out. You could get used to this song.


	4. Luca

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter mentions drug use/recreational use. Fiction drugs make a good story, real ones are dangerous people! As always comments appreciated. Enjoy! ^.^

The smell of tea settled into your nostrils as you lazily opened your eyes. It was mid morning and the sun was cascading down the walls of the flat. You straightened your back realizing you had fallen asleep on a couch that was not yours. 

“Morning” John’s voiced echoed from the kitchen. He was pouring water into a ceramic mug and gestured to you. You gave a half smile which turned into a yawn as you looked around this being the first time you had actually had the time to pay attention to their dwellings. Sherlock’s chair faced the window with his violin placed upright leaning against the upholstery. There was the faint smell of chemicals that came from behind a closed door which you assumed was Sherlock’s room. Stretching your legs out you sat up making your way to the counter where John was leaning, reading the morning paper. 

“Thank you, sorry for falling asleep here I don’t even remember getting on the couch” you said as you grabbed the mug and let the steam rise up warming you face. You loved the warmth that accompanied morning tea it made you feel like the world wasn’t as grey as it often was in your head. You glanced over towards the closed door and remembered Sherlock had said he needed to show you something. You smiled dirtily to yourself wondering what exactly he had wanted to show you.

“He might be asleep for awhile, he’s not really a morning person” John pointed his thumb towards the door, glancing up at you from his paper. You looked back down at your tea watching the water swirl around as you let out a slight whimper. John smiled at you, folding the paper up and setting it down on the counter.

“He didn’t come home the night before”

“Oh..really?” you asked putting the pieces together slowly. 

“He called me from inside the lab you let him use and-“ John paused taking in the confused look you were giving him. He sighed and rolled his eyes, shooting the closed door an irritated look.

“He broke in didn’t he?” John asked you. You nodded, not really sure how you should react. You weren’t really a morning person either. John continued on about yesterday’s antics, and how Sherlock had disappeared from the hospital afterwards and left him stranded. 

“He was in the cab waiting when I opened the door” you said setting your mug down and walking towards his chair. You ran your fingers over the top of the violin and up the neck, taking in how worn the strings where from constant use. 

“How’s your arm feeling John, you should go fill those prescriptions today” you looked up to see him watching you, and could tell his brain was slowly working on the information you had just given him. 

“Yes, yes I’ll be sure to do that before I head off to the clinic. I actually should be heading out now” he walked towards the table to collect his laptop and finish his tea. He took a few steps over to you and gave you a friendly hug with his good arm, putting his chin on your shoulder.

“He doesn’t wait for anyone, you know” he whispered, giving you a slight squeeze before turning to do the door. You set your mug down and padded after him, wanting to ask him more about yesterday considering you had magically ended up on your couch. 

“John wait!” you called after him as he made his way to the front door. He turned to you, giving you a quick smile and waved.

“Don’t think too hard about it ___, you have a weird effect on him. Just let it be” and with that he walked outside to leave you with your thoughts as you leaned against the wall staring into nothing. 

Let it be? You were never anyone to let anything be without an explanation. You hated anything vague and bothered people until you got all the information you needed. You stomped down your stairs muttering to yourself about how the only connection you had with him was there for the purpose of getting what he needed at the time. The mere thought of it developing into something realistic made you scoff, not that you would mind. Patience was not your strong suit and you had often gotten yourself into trouble by letting it control you. Your constant battle raged within you and you often had you remind yourself to calm down when someone was taking their time explaining things to you. Or withholding information all together like John had just done. You swung your door open to your flat, figuring you should at least get the place together while waiting for Sherlock’s seemingly nocturnal ass to wake up. You let out a groan as you realized how much shit you actually had before turning on your phone and letting the music blast as you danced around trying to get yourself in the mood to clean.  
\-----

The sun was high in the sky before you heard any stirrings from above you. By the time Sherlock had decided to grace you with his presence you had put all your things away, showered, read a medical journal and had gone through about 12 bananas practicing your running whipstitch. You grabbed your phone and got up to head up the stairs when he came bursting through your door and threw you a half-assed smile. 

“Ready?” 

“Are you ser-“ he had grabbed your hand and pulled you towards him before half dragging you up the stairs. He was like a little child, excited over some new toy he couldn’t wait to show off. His hair was still slightly a mess from sleeping for so long, and you couldn’t help lacing your fingers with his as his grip softened on your hand once you reached the door. He stepped into the street to hail a cab, unlocking your fingers to open the door. He stood to the side of the cab with his hand resting a top the door. He motioned you in the cab with a frown.

“I’m trying to be courteous” 

“Why?” you asked sliding into the seat while he followed. He looked at your profile as you kept your head straight forward staring into the road. He was trying to figure out if he should answer your question or if he should just see how everything played out. He ran is eyes down your frame, noting you had dressed in simple black skinny jeans that hugged your curves in the most perfect way, with a grey knee length hooded knit jacket and a maroon infinity scarf. You leaned your head down a little to burry your nose in your scarf, inhaling the scent of the person who had given it to you. He noticed a hint of sadness in your eyes before you turned to look at him. You both stared at each other for a few moments before you spoke.

“So what is it you need me to see?” you asked slightly on edge. The cab pulled over to the side and he wrapped his hand around your wrist again and smiled as he pulled you forward. You both walked into a large grey building passing by officers and detectives chatting not paying much attention to both of you. You followed him as he descended down a flight of stairs, the thumping of your matching footsteps setting a smooth rhythm. You looked around you, starting to feel the temperature drop and the familiar scent of formaldehyde and death. Was he taking you to a morgue? 

“Yes” he said as he opened the swinging door. How did he always know what you were thinking? You walked into the room filled with metal compartments stacked nearly to the ceiling, rows as far as you could see. You walked slowly to them running your finger around the edges as you recalled doing so during med school. You smiled and turned towards him cocking your head. He walked over to the mortician who was writing something on a chart as she turned towards him and gave a big smile. A little too big for you as your territorial side took over and you strolled over to the pair.

“Molly I need to speak to the gentleman in that slot” Sherlock pointed to a middle compartment near your left. You and the woman both looked over at where he was pointing then back to him. 

“Oh this is ___, ___this is Molly” 

“H-hello” she said sticking out her hand timidly to shake yours. You smiled and held out your hand as you both stared awkwardly at each other.

“Are you helping Sherlock with a case, another detective?” She asked you as her eyes kept wandering over to Sherlock who had began rummaging through a bag in the corner. 

“No I’m a doctor” you replied walking over to the detective. He pulled out a medical kit that looked similar to yours. Wait, that was yours.

“Sherlock what the hell!?” you yelped as you yanked it from his hands. He looked at you confused, then back over at Molly.

“I need that man, Molly” he snapped. Startled she ran over and pulled the handle open, sliding the body out. A man in his late 50’s with salt and pepper hair lay there, the tag over his foot read had some illegible writing on it. There was a small hole in his chest from where a bullet had obviously killed him, as you stared at him you realized he couldn’t have been dead more than a few hours. 

“Sherlock, why do you need him? He was shot by his wife, the case was closed within the hour. I don’t even think you were on it” Molly shot him a confused look as he put his fingers to his lips to silence her, and pointed to the door. Stunned she opened her mouth but quickly shut it as his gaze grew more threatening and she scurried towards the door. He looked at you with your medical kit in your hand and smiled a little.

“This man has the same exact wound as Mr. Leighton, but he’s dead so if you mess up the procedure it won’t matter.” He stepped towards you and grabbed your bag, laying out the instruments on a nearby table. This is was his way of apologizing from pulling you from surgery and you couldn’t help but feel a small bubble of happiness creep up from your heart. You closed the gap between you two as his back was facing towards you, and wrapped your arms around his waist.

“Practice bodies are like flowers for surgeons ya’know” you said giggling and pressing your nose into his back. He sighed and patted your hands letting his fingers draw little patterns against your skin. He turned around and un wrapped your arms, slowly removing your scarf from your neck. Your eyes stared back into his as he slowly unbuttoned your jack and slide it off your shoulders. You shuddered as his hands brushed the revealing skin on your collarbone, swallowing your breath in the process. He stepped to the side pointing you in the directing of your instruments. You walked towards the metal tray as the overhead light made them shine like polished silver. You felt his body heat diminish as he grabbed a chair set it down on the opposite side of the body. Propping his legs up against the compartments he closed his eyes and let you do what you did best. 

In his mind palace he had everything perfectly organized the way he wanted it. Filing and combing ever little thing so that nothing was out of place. So why was he stuck on this box o’you that he couldn’t figure out where to put. He didn’t have much information on you yet, really it was a list of things he knew you liked. So far on the list was surgery, dead bodies to practice on, cinnamon shampoo and dancing. He looked up at you working as you pulled the bullet out with a small clamp and you flung it over your shoulder, it made a pinging sound on the tile floor and rolled off out of sight. You didn’t need a mask so your face showed him everything you were feeling at that moment. Your hair was pulled back in a messy bun on top of your head, your hand s creating miniscule stitches in the dead man’s heart, he could practically see the happiness radiate from your skin. It was like a gold aura that made your smile brighter and your soft skin glow. He closed his eyes again taking a mental picture of you at work and placed it in the box. He stamped a date on it and wrote the word ‘Happy’ underneath it, then quickly erased it and wrote ‘Euphoric’. Much better. At the very bottom of the box under the few lists he had written he let the paper with the feelings you’d given him float up in front of his view. From what he had gathered going through John’s various emails to his girlfriends the most correct word he could come up with was lust. Pure and simple lust. He sighed rubbing his temples with his fingers as he looked over everything one last time trying to figure out if there was anything else he could blame it on. He knew he had used that word somewhere for something else, he rummaged through the files he had long forgotten about until he found a tiny little folded up paper at the bottom of an old case file. He unfolded it and closed it quickly, seeing as it was the page that held the few bits of information he’d kept on her. Irene—the woman. He frowned and quickly burned that. What he felt for you was more than pure lust, then his memory of anything and everything about that woman appeared in front of him. Not even comparable anymore—he tossed that information into the burning wastebasket and quickly made it disappear. It wasn’t all lust then, it was something greater than that. 

“Sherlock” your voice broke the silence. He opened his eyes and turned to you. The look on your face was unreadable; he turned to follow your gaze to see Mycroft at the door. 

“What are you doing?” he lashed as he strode towards you all while giving his brother a death glare. Sherlock stood up fixing his jacket and stood in his path so he couldn’t get to you.

“She’s practicing. Now off you go!” he retorted as he flicked his hands at his brother. Mycroft moved to the side to look at you as you were setting the instruments down, folding your arms on your chest forgetting you had blood on your gloves. Gross. 

“I need to speak to you” the elder brother said motioning you towards him. 

“Anything you need to say can be said right here you patronizing ice cube” you shot, looking down at your ruined sweater. You sighed sadly you had loved this cream-colored sweater it was the coziest thing in the world. Mycroft better buy you three more. In different colors, maybe all the colors..

“Are you paying attention?” a booming voice came at you. You looked up to see Mycroft a few feet away from you, glaring angrily as if he was trying to scare your soul. You shook your head and gulped looking over pleadingly at Sherlock whom was coming up close behind his brother. 

“I said your father is up for a promotion and will be coming here at the end of the month to have a fundraiser that you need to attend.” He said brushing some dust off his sleeves.

“You could have just called me and told me this” you said going back to your work.

“That being said his council was emailed a few…pictures of you from a couple of years ago that won’t look good in the public. I came here to ask you if you knew who took them and how to find the people who have them to get rid of them” he stated looking in any direction but towards you. Your hands froze and that panicky feeling you used to get began to return making your hands shake. You started to count to ten in your head, shutting your eyes tight and focusing on your breathing. Strong hands found their way to yours removing the sharp instruments and placing them on the table. You could tell it was Mycroft from the expensive cologne and you sat down cross-legged on the floor, flinging your gloves to the side and bringing your hands to your face. You tried with all your might not to let the tears roll down your cheeks but this feeling hadn’t happened in so long that you forgot how to control it. Sherlock sat down beside you rubbing your back and looking up at his brother.

“You practically are the British government and you can’t find a simple minded, computer savvy bastard to delete some photos. You’re getting rusty in your old age” he said sarcastically. You laughed a little as you looked up at Mycroft. You and him shared a lot of knowledge between the two of you, things you never wanted anyone else to know. You didn’t think Mycroft had the ability to be sensitive and he had surprised you when he had promised to keep everything secret. He stated it was his job because of your father but he went to even greater lengths to keep you safe from your past mistakes bubbling up and destroying the future you had created out of darkness. You rocked a bit before pushing yourself to stand and Sherlock followed in suit. You held your head up high and closed the chamber holding your former patient, giving a slight wave to the dead body as you walked towards the door.

“I’ll have Molly pack your things” Sherlock stated following behind. Mycroft turned to protest his brother’s presence but you silenced him with a quick jab of your elbow into his ribcage. He frowned at you as the three of you headed up stairs to the main lobby. As soon as walked down the hall the stares and snickers started. Mycroft glared behind him and they shut up quickly, but not quick enough to stop your stomach from turning and the immense feeling of embarrassment slithered its way up. You thought you had left this all behind, but could anyone really leave anything behind? Decisions, choices, memories all etched themselves into people’s lives and were all too permanent. Mycroft led you and Sherlock into a room where a few cops were hovered over a computer screen. Mycroft cleared his throat and ordered them to get out immediately. You groaned as you saw what pictures they had been talking about. Fucking Fabulous.

There you were in all your teenage glory, golden blonde hair with streaks of pink and purple running through the high mess of a ponytail. Strands of hair hanging over your face, eyes dilated so large it looked like your pupils were about to burst. You were smiling though you remembered there was not a lot of happiness in you at the time. Just drugs and loneliness. You had a cigarette and a beer in one hand, your fishnet clad arm around a boy in his twenties with a scar above his left eye and pitch black hair. He had a smirk on his face and eyes pointed down your chest. You were wearing only a studded bra and the fishnet crop top and you had your head leaning down, a hundred dollar bill rolled up and stuffed under your nostril as you were in the middle of doing a line of coke from a mirror that was being held up by the boy next to you. You squeezed your eyes shut wishing it would all just disappear. Sherlock stared at the photo feeling multiple emotions at once, which was not anything he liked in the slightest. He knew you weren’t happy in that photo, he knew that boy wanted to sleep with you in that picture, and he knew from the state that cocaine put people in, that you probably had slept with him. He gritted his teeth and pulled you towards him protectively while staring at his brother.

“Do you know who took this?” Sherlock seethed at his brother. Mycroft shook his head and looked over to you.

“Yeah, I do.” You said sadly looking at your feet. I t wasn’t just the reality of your past staring back at you wide eyed and threatening to exploit your family secrets. It was the connection that Mycroft had made just looking at the boy beside you, it was the fact that you couldn’t tell Sherlock who he was. Even if he would find out sooner or later, you knew the connection and that made you shiver. You looked up at the detective who was looking down at you with a soft face. 

“Luca” you whispered. Mycroft stood up and flipped his phone telling the person on the other line to find everything he could on this person. You shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other as Mycroft looked at Sherlock with a worried face.

“Luca works for Moriarty” he stated, looking back at you. You looked at Sherlock’s expression and it had turned to stone. He sighed for a moment before turning and walking out the door without a word. You looked behind you as his hair disappeared into the hallway and down to where you came. You looked up again at Mycroft who was still on the phone as you slumped back into a chair against the wall, pulling your knees up to your chest as you hung your head a top of them letting focusing on keeping the tears and anger inside.


	5. Virus

You squinted your eyes trying to focus on the writing you had been staring at for the last four days. The conjoined twins’ surgery was tonight and you had been among the other jr. residents selected to help. For weeks you had been perfecting the movements with your hands in any spare time you found, going over it visually in your head. The 9-month-old babies were connected from the shoulder down to their leg. They shared a complicated mess of organs their intestines were intricately laced with one another, they each had one kidney and shared a remaining third one and the nerves were all connected. One wrong snip and one could be paralyzed on their whole side, or worse if the organs were damaged at all one could die or both of them. You shuttered at the thought and tried again to stare at the nerve reference at hand because you would be helping the nuero-genius cut and reattach nerve endings so that their arms and legs would be fully functional. It was hard to concentrate with the feeling that someone was watching you. You looked around the empty skills lab noting only a few movements that were caused by the shadows of empty chairs. You rubbed your temples and closed your eyes trying to visualize every scan of the twins from the past two weeks in an attempt to memorize where you would be helping cut. Alas your mind kept wandering to the hollow part in your chest that had been left in ruins since your run in with Mycroft at the Scotland Yard.

Sherlock had left seemingly after he realized you had some sort of connection with Moriarty. You went through hours of pictures trying to give every last detail of your part in the drug ring that was now apparently run by Luca. You never actually sold anything, just knew a lot, but sadly your memory was a little toxic considering you barely witnessed anything sober. For all you knew half the things that happened could have been a hallucination brought on by everything you made your body digest. You remembered the look of pity Lestrade had given you every time a new question had popped up about your relationship with Luca, if you ever had any run ins with Moriarty or if it had all been through your then kind-of-boyfriend but not. You bit your lip as you recalled what you had told them hadn’t exactly been the truth. You did meet Moriarty, a lot actually. You couldn’t bring yourself to divulge that information and he never told you anything that would have helped their investigation. He hadn’t even been present during those pictures, he never would make appearances at the various raves or parties where his product was being distributed. It bored him too much. He was so interesting at the time, his voice pitch was always connected to his stress level and whenever someone made him upset he always strained it and it made you laugh. You were his favorite and at the time you thought he truly liked you until you soon came to realize you were disposable as anyone was to him. Your father hadn’t really been of interest to him at the time, he wasn’t that high on the political totem pole and he had many people above your father’s rank under his thumb. Which is why you assumed Luca was doing this out of spite, trying to ruin your life again without consent from Moriarty. How he found you baffled Lestrade but you and Mycroft both knew your location wasn’t something that needed concealing. You lived your life as if you didn’t constantly have an axe over your head and you knew that it would never come down as long as you kept your mouth shut about the interworking his drug trade. 

“You’re not even reading that” came that deep, luscious voice from the shadows. You gulped and gripped the pages. He hadn’t even attempted to talk to you in four days, even thought it would have been kind of hard since you’d been staying at the hospital. He was smart enough to know where you were though, and that bastard didn’t even try to communicate. You’d thought the least he could do was wait for you at the station, he didn’t even have to talk to you. Just maybe be a little politer after he decided he wanted nothing to do with you.

“I’m normally better at this hot and cold bullshit men do, but I can’t today” you sighed staring into the pages. He was right you don’t even remember how you got to this section of the book. You closed it hastily and leaned back in the chair refusing to look at him. 

 

“Your ties with Moriarty don’t scare me if that’s what you’re assumption is” he said quietly. You heard his footsteps coming closer to you and the squeak of the chair under his weight as he sat a few feet away from you. Still refusing to acknowledge his presence you stared at the cover of the book, dragging your fingers lazily around the title. He said nothing for a few minutes, just looked you up and down pulling more photos into his memory for later. Your hair hung in a loose ponytail, your scrubs had wrinkles in them from being slept in so often and your lab coat was sitting on the table in front of you. 

“I like your natural hair color better,” he said as he reached his long arms out to let a finger gently slide from your ear down to your shoulders. You shuddered at his touch and finally turned towards him trying not to smile.

“That was a long time ago, I’m nothing like that now” 

“Obviously, I doubt they let people operate with cocaine in their system. Though it would probably help keep you awake” he said with a slight smile. That was the Sherlock that not a lot of people saw, the fact that he had a funny side would probably cause most people to think you were still on drugs. He pulled his hand back and pressed them together resting underneath his chin. Maybe he was here to apologize for his constant inability to decide how he wanted to treat you. Maybe he missed you.

“Your past will be helpful now, I need your help on a case. Two young adults whom I guess would be considered ‘ravers’ were found dead. Nasty condition, heart stopped with green foam coming from the mouth. Seems their heart just stopped but no drugs or alcohol found in their system. Your past in recreational drug use and science could be really useful to me” he said in one breath. Maybe not. He opened his mouth to say something else but before he could get any sound out he was hit directly in the face with your book. 

“God!” he screeched as the book fell on to his lap. He gripped his nose with his hands as blood started seeping through it.

“SERIOUSLY! You don’t talk to me for days, days and all you want is to use me? Pick a side Sherlock you either treat me like I matter or don’t bother talking to me at all. I am not Molly do not fake compliment me just to get me to do what you want. I expect it from men trying to get in my pants so if that is not the location you’re trying to get to then just DON’T!” you screamed standing and turning to walk away. His shocked expression was enough to give you the gratification of that little blow-up as you gathered your things from the desk. You felt his hands on your forearm while the other one still held his nose.

“I don’t compliment you to get favors from you. I just thought you would like to help” he muffled through his hand, sniffing a bit to try and catch the blood from running down. You sighed and turned around, locking eyes with him. He looked a mess, his suit had some blood on it and his hand was bright red from the capillary blood water-falling into it. You grabbed some tissue from your lab coat pocket and you pulled his hand away replacing it with yours. You pressed the tissue to his nose lightly standing on your tiptoes to reach. 

“Look up” you said as your other arm came to rest on his shoulder trying to balance yourself. He complied and tilted his head a little. You both stood in this position for a few moments before his nose stopped bleeding. You pointed to a nearby sink so he could wash his hands and clean his shirt off.

“You’ve been here. I knew you were embarrassed after hours of being drilled about your past and I figured you would use your work to help get your mind off it. I didn’t want to bother you” he said over the sound of the water running. 

Fuck.

You put your hands over your face and let out a little scream into them. It was bad enough you had just made his nose explode like a volcano of blood but you had misjudged his reasoning for everything. You walked over to him and wrapped your arms around him like you had in the morgue. He said nothing as he washed his hands in the sink, feeling your head nestle its way into your back.

“I’m sorry. I’ll help you. But I’ve got a really big surgery tonight and I can’t miss it.” you sighed into his coat. It felt so warm and soft like laying on a knitted cloud. He turned around still in your arms pushing you back a little.

“Why Moriarty?” he asked furrowing his brow at you.

“What?” you replied letting your hands fall to your sides. You felt a tingle in your throat as his name sounded so wrong coming from Sherlock’s lips.

“Out of all the drug dealers and distributors, how did you end up with Moriarty?” you sighed at his question. It was not something you wanted to talk about, but a question that the police hadn’t even bothered asking you. Their main focus was the pictures and was probably fueled by your father’s annoyance and rage.

“I met Luca through my friend. She brought me to my first rave when I was fourteen. I had already been experimenting with drinking, smoking pot and I’d done coke a few times. Luca gave me my first ecstasy pill and from then on we became inseparable. I was so desperate for someone’s attention and I’d never felt happiness until that little pill came into my life” you said sadly.

“The endorphins caused a false sense of happiness” the detective said. You nodded and looked up at his eyes searching for any hint of judgment or disgust. All you saw was genuine interest in your story.

“After a few months of just partying I started sort of-“ you paused not knowing how to word your relationship with Luca without sounding so..desperate.

“Having sex” he finished. Great, the first sentence he finishes of yours was the one about your illicit affairs in the bedroom at the mere age of fourteen. You mentally smacked yourself in the head wanting to run away and hide in a closet. 

“Yes. The more time we spent together the more drugs I experimented with and soon I met the people higher up. Luca was smart though, he wanted to invent a drug that couldn’t be seen on tox screens. More people would be willing to buy something that gives you a good trip but can’t be traced” as you finished that sentence it was like a bomb going off in your head. You both looked at each other with the same idea in your minds.

“I told you, you would be helpful” the detective said gleefully as he took his phone out and texted someone. Your beeper rang out echoing in the empty room as you did a little jump. The operation was starting, twelve glorious hours of helping two little babies live happy healthy lives. You looked up at the detective suddenly feeling like you should show off a little too.

“Do you want to watch? Conjoined twins being separated.” He smiled at your question, walking towards the door.

“Sure” he said nonchalantly as he held the door open for you. You ran ahead dragging him along by his sleeve to the locker room.

“wait here” you said quickly bounding in the room to grab him an extra lab coat. You threw it at him while holding your hand out for his coat and scarf. He cocked his eyebrow as he followed your silent command hanging over his clothes. He looked delicious in that white lab coat and you threw a pair of glasses at him you found on the floor.

“If anyone asks..well you can come up with something” you said as you made your way across the catwalk to the surgical wing. 

You swiped your badge to grant you access and made your way through the hallway to the door of the gallery. You ushered him in, putting a finger to your lips as one of your colleagues was about to open their mouth in protest. Sherlock gave him a glare that would put his brother’s menacing look to shame as he sat down in the middle, gaining a full view to the show that was about to be put on. You waved as you made your way down to the scrub room, grabbing your designated cap that had a gold star on it. 

The surgeons had been separated into two teams, one team for each baby so that there would be no confusion. Weeks of practice before you had even arrived in London was finally put to the test. You never told anyone but you knew you would get the residency spot out here—you were damn good and everyone knew it. You went over the nerve placement in your head again as you scrubbed off Sherlock’s blood and the days grime from your hands. Your cap was on and your mask was in place. You strode towards the automatic doors and were instantly draped with a gown and motioned over to twin A’s side.

The little boy, he had strawberry blonde hair and bright blue eyes. His skin looked like alabaster in the harsh lighting of the O.R. His shoulder connected to his sister’s like someone had super glued them together. Their abdomen’s connected at their side so that they had never seen each other’s faces, just swift kicks to each other’s bums and blind noises was all the interaction they had so far in their short little life. All that was about to change, your hands would be a part of that change. Your heart began to race as they placed the mask over both their tiny little faces. You held the boys hand as he and his sister drifted off to sleep. You looked above you at Sherlock who was staring directly at you and you smiled behind your mask. It was just for a second but you knew it was there, the smile that barely ever graced that wondrous face of his. Hidden behind his dark rimmed glasses his eyes shone brighter than you had ever seen them.

There was something behind all that wit and ego, he was still a person. A good person, you and John both knew it and you were kind of okay with the rest of the world thinking he was void of human emotion. You heard the chief of surgery speak and you turned your attention back to the task at hand. With one hand raised you took the scalpel that was being handed to you as you watch the head of plastics slowly separate the babies inch by inch, you were ready to dive in there and salvage every single nerve even if it took all night. 

He watched you as that glow about you started to rise up. He was ready to watch you, even if took all night.  
___________________

His fingers drummed on the right side of the counter while the sound of awkward feet shuffling came from your left, obviously Molly. You sucked your lips in as to not say something sarcastic, it’s not that you didn’t like Molly she was a very sweet person but her borderline obsession with Sherlock just hit you in the wrong way. You blew out a puff of air and lifted your head from the microscope.

“Your finger drumming is not helping me concentrate” you said bringing your hand to your hip. He stopped his fingers mid air and turned to you, folding his hands together and resting his chin on them.

“Carry on” he said and proceeded to stare at you. Molly let a little cough and you pivoted to face her trying to mask the annoyance seething through your pores.

“Yes?” you hissed through your teeth. She fumbled with her jacket shifting her eyes around to focus on Sherlock while she spoke to you. You hated when people didn’t look you in the eye when they spoke, cowardly. 

“I’m just n-n-not sure what you’re looking for. It looks like they both had cardiac arrest,” she said sheepishly still keeping her eyes on the man behind you. Sherlock could practically feel the waves of irritation sweeping your core as you balled your hand up and brought your arm to her side. He half expected you to hit her as he watched you curiously. After his nose nearly being broken by your book he had added “rage outburst” and “slight violent tendencies” to the list he was keeping on you. He chuckled to himself waiting to see how this little scene would play out. You rested your hand on her shoulder and gave a big, fake smile.

“Molly dear, sweet sweet Molly. I have no idea what I’m looking for but if you have ever seen a heart shrivel like a dying flower I’d love to hear the reason why” you stated. Her eyes widened, as she had no ready response to that which is what you had intended. You turned back to your scope looking for anything off in the structure of the deceased girl’s blood.

After your long surgery you had a euphoric feeling that made you say yes to Sherlock’s question about helping him. Ignoring your need for sleep you happily skipped with him down to the morgue where the bodies were being held. The girl had long black hair pulled up into two high pigtails the ends of her hair were dyed a crisp white color. Three metal hoops hung on her eyebrow and one in her septum. She looked like a little doll lying there on the slab when you had approached her. Her clothes stripped off her body revealing tiny scars along her thighs for which Sherlock had stated she was into body modification judging by the pattern she was trying to carve permanent fishnet tights into her skin. Your eyes drifted to her various tattoos, focusing on one that stuck out in your mind. You fished through your memories trying to place it but nothing had come of it, though that imprint of three little diamonds had struck a chord with you somewhere. Sherlock had noticed you staring at it as he added it to the case file in his mind while handing you the reports. Her heart had just stopped beating as had her friend who was found with her, the green foam had baffled everyone but upon closer inspection you realized it was stomach bile with some sort of chemical mixture that had managed to leak into the stomach. Your hypothesis was correct when you had opened the poor girl up and something had caused a severe burn in her stomach which had let whatever toxic mess into her abdomen, though it hadn’t been what caused her heart to stop. When you opened her chest her heart had turned into a shriveled prune of an organ. Like a dead flower left crumpled on the sidewalk. That is what had stunned you as there was no disease or drug (yet) that had that sort of affect. That’s when you decided to shotgun it—making Molly run every test in the book probably costing more money than the Scotland Yard had wanted to spend on these two deaths. The heart muscle you had collected was of no use, every time you slid it under the scope it broke apart into tiny, unusable piece.

As you peered back into the microscope you saw something twitch.

“What the hell..” you said aloud. Sherlock removed himself from his chair to tower over you. His chest rested on your back with his hands on your shoulders, his hot breath making its way into your ear.

“This is not a two person scope, Sherlock” you said shakily trying to push down the heat the was beginning to make your legs weak. You ran your fingers through your hair as you waited to see if it happened again, zooming in closer to see exactly what the hell was going on here. Everything looked normal, so you zoomed in closer and closer until you could see it. Tiny, tiny micro bacteria that took form of a red blood cells, copying its chemical sequence until it formed an exact replica. Whatever this was, it was smart as hell. You motioned for Sherlock to look as you stepped to the side a little, feeling his hand come around your body trapping you between him and the counter.

“It’s making the blood toxic” he stated keeping his head down inspecting the blood sample. You nodded as a cold wind seemed to blow on nobody but you causing goose bumps to prickle through your skin. You remembered a conversation with Luca when you were in one of you hazes in his flat. He wanted to create a drug that seeped into the bloodstream undercover, to take the form of blood cells and dissipating within a few hours leaving no trace of anything. You laughed at the thought, saying how no bacteria could be engineered to be that smart without breaking the blood cell open. You had been wrong, he had done it but he was not smart enough to do it himself. Your heart started palpitating as a scene started to unfold in your head. You were a third year medical student writing a paper on pathogens that invaded the blood thus causing blood poisoning that resulted in death. You had begun using Luca’s original theory to try and find an antibody that could ‘cleanse’ the blood cell of this poison in cycles using 3d printers. Doctors had already begun testing such a device to pull out infections, stings and animal bites but you wanted to take it one step further. You wanted to create something that went into the blood cells to clean them out then remove itself by pushing itself out of the skin for detoxification. You had no contact with any of your old friends since before you even started applying yourself in school so there was no way he had taken your research and twisted it into something diabolical, right?

“So when it entered the blood stream it let out antibodies to eat a hole in the organs causing the stomach acid to bubble up postmortem, and once the blood hit the heart it stopped it instantly. The constant exposure rotted the heart from the inside out” you said looking into your reflection in the window. Was this your fault?

“The state of the brain showed they had gone through intense hallucinations and all their endorphins were being used” Sherlock finished pulling away from the microscope and releasing you. You yawned unintentionally as the guilt at the back of your brain started to eat away at you again. You were tired mentally, physically and the emotions of this last week were chipping down your surgery high. You sat back in the chair Sherlock was previously using and closed your eyes.

“This the first time this drug has been seen. They used it purposely to kill those two, but why?” he said as he shifted began drumming his fingers again. There seemed to be much more than this that needed to be unraveled. They had been purposely put in public so someone would find them, the green foam obviously was over dramatic but had done the job none the least. You laid your head down on the table folding your arms over one another to create an uncomfortable, boney pillow. Just a few moments of silence was all you wanted as you felt a coat being draped over you. The hum of a computer being turned on was the last thing you heard as you unwillingly drifted off into sleep.


	6. Never Leave

The leaves fell in the most delicate pattern, light drops of melting snow landed on your face. You looked up at the leaves swirling around you, the blinding light of the spring sun lent its warmth to your cheeks. You were in a graveyard behind a group of people whimpering and sniffling behind black veils. You looked around you and were surrounded by blank headstones as you realized someone was holding your hand. The hand was small but strong as the grip on yours tightened as words flowed out of the speaker in front of you. You waded through the crowds to see who they were crying over and the hand you held trailed a frail body behind you. The whimpers of the crowd grew louder as you approached an open grave and a casket idling over the empty hole. You blinked and everyone vanished into nothingness as a feeling of sorrow crept up on you. The tombstone began etching a name into itself and you remembered where you were. 

Cassidy Monroe Stonewell. The name made your heart break into a thousand pieces that fell to the floor making it hard for you to breath. You made your towards the grave stone still holding onto the person behind you as your fingers traced over the marble. As tears began to fall down your face thunder and lightning struck all around you lighting the sky up in purple hues. You felt a small body attach itself to you in a scared embrace as you looked down to see black curls over a porcelain face. It looked up at you with its honey colored eyes, pleading for help. 

“Help me!” she cried tugging at your sleeve. She began to run backwards as you chased after her. Her feet were swept from under her as she fell on her face and was dragged away, clawing at the grass. You screamed for help but nobody else was around as the sky grew darker, the rain pelting you with harden drops that felt like glass. You ran as fast as your legs could carry you towards the girl as the grass turned to concrete and she disappeared into the ground. You screamed as your hands slammed down on the concrete that swallowed her, trying forcefully to open it back up.

“Pretty girl” a voice called that made you freeze. You looked up to see a young Luca, the scar above his eye creased with his smile. He held his hand up and you grabbed it following him through an abandoned storefront. The door creaked open and revealed an abandoned candy shop with a dusty bar top, tables with broken chairs stacked aimlessly along the walls, blank spots on the wall were pictures used to hang created a winding path to an open door. Luca snapped and with the sound came light, illuminating the doorway ahead. He motioned you forward while humming that song he always used to when he was shooting up. You shivered as you stepped into a large empty space where the candy shop used to store its back-up treats. Shelves lined the walls with empty cardboard boxes bending inward, broken by time and water damage. Dripping pipes lined the walls in colors of red and yellow, finding their way down the side of the far wall and into the void underneath you.

“Remember ___? This was my dream. Our dream” he said as he grabbed your hand pulled your lips towards his. You pushed hard against him but his arms were like steal bands wrapping you into his cold, stone body. You muffled a cry and he laughed, spinning you in circles while he spoke.

“___, we would have been so lovely together. Cassidy was a minor setback, but I’ve changed it now as you can see!”  
“Wh-what? What do you mean she was a setback? She overdosed!” you yelled finally prying your lips away from his dry crackled ones. He released you as you stumbled backwards; he took slow steps towards you, his eyes turning darker.

“Don’t you see? I did it for you and me. She offered to help us out, to try my new candy. Test subjects aren’t always the smartest; she thought she’d be fine and dandy. Soon as the foam came from her mouth I knew I’d have to tweak the recipe, but then you ran away because you thought you were better than me. Too bad for her I ended up getting her sister, and now when I find you you’ll end up with her”

You turned to run but the floors turned to sand and you flailed trying to escape, screaming as loud as you could, heart pounding into your chest about to burst.

Your head shot up as you tried to inhale as much air as you could, warm hands finding their way to your shoulders.

“GET OFF ME!” you yelled pushing yourself away from him. You were panting and your vision was still blurry from sleeping. All that was heard was your breathing and Sherlock’s, you blinked a few times and the microscope took form, as did the samples you were looking at. You looked at the clock and realized it was 6am and you were still in the morgue. You wiped the sweat off your for head and closed your eyes trying to get your breathing under control.

“Are you alright?” he asked you hesitantly. You nodded your head and sat back down in the chair swiveling it to face him. He looked at you worriedly, patiently waiting for you to regain your composure.

“I think..I think I know where Luca’s creating this stuff. I had a horrible dream and..” you trailed off as the tattoo made itself apparent in your memory. One neuron firing was all it took, it lit up your memory bank and a sudden realization caused a hitch in your breath as it became compromised again. Choking back the tears you scrambled off the seat and over to the porcelain girl. You came within inches of it before you lost your footing and doubled over, vomiting to the side as reality sank in. You felt numb and no tears came to you. Your head rest between your knees as you bent over yourself, waiting for anything to happen. Nothing, just pure emptiness was the only thing you had left.

Sherlock wasn’t entirely sure what to do. He motioned for John who had shown up a few hours earlier to help with research, to come and help you. John moved quickly, putting a towel over your bile as he guided you towards the floor. You let him help you as you sat cross-legged staring at the corpse of your best friends little sister. She had come to see you your second year at Stanford, showing you the three diamonds on her wrist that represented herself, her sister and you. You could tell she had been using and had dismissed her, handing her a pamphlet with a number for a rehab and sent her out the door. 

“Who is she?” Sherlock asked making his way towards you. You closed your eyes waiting for the words to come from your mouth. Nothing came as your mind was a blank slate teetering between dangerous guilt and uncontrollable rage. This situation had to be handled a certain way or else it would backfire and people would get hurt. 

“Did she give you that scarf you wear all the time?” he asked softly. He wasn’t good with delicate situations and you were clearly in a delicate mental state. The last thing he needed was for you to go into a depression or worse risk you relapsing. He carefully picked out his words as he was forming the questions to figure out what exactly your connection was. You shook your head in answer to his question without look at him, your eyes looked void of any life and that made his heart sink into the pit of his stomach.

He had found your paper in his research, well his ‘hacking’ as John would point out and figured out that Luca had stolen your creation. It had become clear judging by your sudden reaction to the girl, that these murders were directed to hurt you. Meaning he probably meant to actually hurt you sometime soon.

“Was she a friend of the person who gave you the scarf. No, related. Sister?” he looked at you as your eyes welled up with tears and he instantly regretted pushing this. He needed to make sure you were safe and whomever this Luca person was had to be taken into custody for it, so he pressed on. 

“This was obviously direct at you. I have already informed Mycroft and you’ll need to stay with us for the time being” he said. John looked up at him then back at you, deciding that it was in your best interest to stay with the two of them. You stood up suddenly walking over to Cassidy’s sister and began taking her hair of the pigtails. You let her curly locks cascade down her face like they used to when she was younger, softly running your finger down her face. You gasped a little at how cold she was, the sharp inhale causing the muscles in your neck to tighten. You turned towards the pair of men and exhaled softly.

“In my dream, Luca said he had killed Cassidy by using his drug as an experiment on her. I had cut off all ties from her, until I got a call from her mom a few weeks into my second year of pre-med. She said she overdosed on heroine and that was it. I didn’t know she still talked to Luca, I tried to get her to get clean. I went to see the doctor that treated her and it said her brain had hemorrhaged, which didn’t add up to me because heroine doesn’t do that to her brain. I didn’t put the two together because I never thought he would find my paper-“ you started shaking while you tried to finish your sentence. John wrapped his arm around you.

“This is not your fault” he whispered. You held your head up as you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket. Even if it wasn’t the hospital, you were going to go anyways, you needed an excuse to escape. Sherlock came over and took your phone before sliding it in his pocket.

“You are in no shape to operate,” he said. You looked at him knowing his heart was in the right place but all it did was make you angry. You pushed John off you and ran towards the door. John ran after you but Sherlock stopped him  
“You’re right about her mental state she can’t go into an operation like that” he said annoyed looking at the door you’d just ran out of. He ran through a few scenarios before decided John was right and they needed to go after you before you compromised your career.

“I know” the detective said. Both men looked at each other and as if on cue they both walked towards the door after you. 

The wind was something tremendous as you stepped out of the building, shivering in its wake. You wrapped your arms around yourself as you were only clothed in old skinny jeans and a light overcoat. Trees whistled under the power of the storm fast approaching as rain began thundering down sideways, sending your coat flying up at your legs. Your teeth chattered as you stepped backwards away from the rain and looked down the street. It was nearly empty with the sun peaking over the buildings as it gave an eerie, deep orange glow to the city. You saw a shadow fast approaching you, it looked like a small child trying to hide from the storm. The door behind you open as you heard John’s voice coming from behind your head.

“You’re not in any shape to operate yet ___. You know that, please just come home with us. I know you’re not on call tonight anyways” John said glancing outside at the storm. He wrapped his arms around your shivering shoulders to keep you warm and you leaned into the embrace. 

“I checked your phone, it was just an email. We will get a cab and you can play operation with me. Since John refuses to let me play cluedo” Sherlock said. You looked back down at the shadow as a large crack of lightening hit the sky. Out of the corner of your eye you saw a large tree branch snap as the wind it hurled down the street, scraping against the pavement. Your eyes widened in horror as a little boy grasped onto a street lamp, panting as he tried to run under cover. The tree branch was swiftly coming his way like a harpoon shot into the ocean. Before you could react the branch snapped against the street pole wrapping around it and flung the boy backwards into the cold wind. You and John took off towards the boy hoping he didn’t crack his head open on the ground below him. Thankfully the boy was sitting up with his hand on his head, breathing shakily.

“Are you okay?!” John asked frantically searching the boy over for wounds. He shook is head yes but his breathing wasn’t even and it look like it pained him to take deep breaths. You and John exchanged looks as you inspected the patch of hair that was matted with blood. You held his hand as you ran your fingers over it, just a mere scrape from the cement and you exhaled softly. John laid the boy down gently on his back but after a few mere seconds he screamed in agony and shot himself back up.

“It hurts to breathe, I can’t” he huffed. You leaned your head towards his chest to listen to his heart and your stomach sank. You motioned for John to listen to his heart and he gave you the same worried look. His breathing was getting harsher and he started to shake with fear. 

“Cardiac Tamponade” you said in unison. John wrapped his coat around the boy trying to sooth him as he looked at you horrified. You heard footsteps behind you as Sherlock arrived with your medical bag and set it down next to you. The boy was near passing out from lack of oxygen and you knew you had to do something. You rummaged through your bag searching for any type of syringe and your gloves. 

“What are you doing?” Sherlock asked in bewilderment as you cut the boys sweater in half tearing the shirt underneath to expose his thin chest. A thick, bruise like circle formed where his heart was and it was increasing in size quickly.

“There’s fluid in his pericardium I have to get the fluid out before his heart stops” you said. Your eyes filtered over the boys chest finding the fifth intercostal space as you took out your needle and gripped your fingers around it willing your body not shake from the cold. The rain pelted downwards at an angry pace, wind wrapping it’s cold hands around you bringing numbness to your limbs. Sherlock took his coat and held it above your head. You took a deep breath and slowly slid the needled into the middle of the darkened skin. Ever so carefully you guided the needle blindly to the fluid sack, visualizing the heart muscle so you wouldn’t puncture it. 

“That’s it ___, just a little deeper” John said encouragingly. You felt the tiniest vibration as the needle punctured the sack and you pulled up the handle and fluid found its way into the large tube. It took only a few minutes but everything felt like it was at a standstill, you could see the water freezing in mid air turning into thick rocks of hail before they hit the ground and shattered over you. You saw Sherlock quickly turning his head as he heard the sound of sirens coming from the building you all had just exited. His hair drenched sticking to the side of his face, tiny red marks on his hands from being pelted by hail. The boy gasped as he tried to suck in all the air he could and you removed the needle, tossing it aside as you grabbed him into your arms trying to give him any warmth possible. Your adrenaline must have been what kept you going as you lifted him up, carrying him to the ambulance before they could even throw the doors open. They motioned you in as you ran down what you had just performed in the field, giving the boys behind you a nod to go home. The sirens blared and the tires screeched splashing in the deep puddles as the storm started to settle, the sun making its appearance behind thick clouds. Another car zoomed to the sidewalk, opening its doors for the boys to join. Lestrade put his light up on his car and followed the ambulance closely like it was going to fade away into the sunrise. 

_______________

You watched them roll him away out of the O.R. with a sigh of relief. After the initial shock wore off they had allowed you to observe the operation. With a lot of ups and downs, they had finally finished. He was on his way to recovery, as Dr.Sutton made his way towards you and placed his hand on his shoulder.

“Good work, he is alive because of you” he said. You smiled an empty smile then turned to dispose of your mask, cap and gown. You walked quickly to the elevator and let its metal door slide closed, trapping you in the emptiness as it carried you up. You waited for the ding signaling your arrival, running your hands up and down your arms trying to get some sort of feeling back in your body. You stepped out onto the fourth floor and waded your way to the locker room where you stood by yourself just staring into nothing. A knock on the side of the wall startled you, you turned to see Sherlock standing in the doorway. He said nothing as he walked towards you, waiting for you to speak. His eyes were the color of a riptide, swirling around you creating a warm feeling in the pit of your belly. That’s when the floodgates opened turning your lithe, statuesque surgeon persona into a sobbing puddle of distraught angst. You cried so hard you nearly choked trying to catch your breath as you fell into his embrace. You could tell he felt awkward but you didn’t care, you just needed somebody. After a few solid minutes of sobbing you tilted your head up. 

“I sav-v- I-I-.. He lived” you said through tears. His expression morphed from concern to ease into a slight smile as his head dipped closer to yours. He paused when your noses touched letting his lips linger before smashing them together on yours. You wrapped your fingers through his hair as he pulled you up off the floor, smashing your bodies together like he was trying to make you one person. Your heartbeats synchronized as if they were two pieces of one puzzle that nuzzled perfectly together and everything melted away until all that was left was the feeling of his lips on yours.


	7. Karma & Candy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some fluffy fluff between you and Sherlock mixed in with some light smutty teasing cause I'm a perv and so is Sherlock ;)

The heat of the fire countered the hardness of the wooden floor you had been glued to for the past few hours. You huddled as close as you could without getting burned, lying on your side with your knees pulled into your chest. Your cheek had become one with the floor and you knew you had to get up eventually, but everything was so warm and simple down here. The sound of Sherlock’s violin lulled you in and out of a dream-like state, bringing short bouts of relief from your pounding head and stuffy nose. Your little white lie to Mycroft had karmatically impaled you with a fever, runny nose and pounding headache that had to have been created by Satan himself. You had been staying upstairs using the warmth of their fireplace and John’s well natured care giving to try and kick this cold in the ass. The only ass that was getting kicked was yours. You had reached your 70 hour work week and almost had to be forcefully removed from the hospital which fortunately for you is when your sickness crept from the darkness. You sneezed and let out a moan pulling the blanket over your head, this was worse than a cheap wine hangover. The violin came to a stop and soft footsteps made their way towards you. You peered through the tiny holes in the knit blanket watching Sherlock watching you. He grabbed the tea John had set by you and brought the cup down to you, crouching by your head.

“You need to eat something” he said, poking your nose through the blanket. You frowned and pulled the blanket down so that only your eyes were visible. You both stayed like that for a few moments drinking each other in. Somehow the hurricane of a storm had done nothing to either of them, choosing you to as its sole victim of the germ-infested doom. Therefore, you had decided it was your karma for lying to Mycroft since apparently he controlled everything around you. You blinked a few times deciding your aching throat could benefit from the smooth warmth of the tea. 

“I need a straw” you pouted. 

“No” he said pulling the blanket down to your shoulders. He set the cup down at his side and pulled you up by your forearms. He sat cross-legged in front of you and shoved the tea into your face. You scowled and took it from him, slowly sipping down the steaming liquid. Really you knew you needed fluids but since your locker room kiss Sherlock had barely even touched you. You didn’t really know how to speak to John about it without revealing what had happened and considering you didn’t even know what was going on you decided to go straight to the source.

“Why did you kiss me?” you asked. He furrowed his brow at you causing those adorable forehead wrinkles you loved.

“You know the signs of arousal” he responded.

“I arouse you?” you asked smiling. He rolled his eyes at you as if you were supposed to know exactly what he was feeling constantly. He got up abruptly heading towards the kitchen to grab something off the stove. He reached above his head without looking and found a small bowl, bringing it to the stovetop. He poured what looked like a yellow-clear liquid into the bowl and plopped a spoon down into it. He was making you soup, Sherlock motherfucking Holmes was making you soup. He glanced over at you before picking up the bowl and setting it on the table. He pointed to the chair without saying a word like an impatient mother forcing their child to behave. 

You got up slowly wrapping the blanket around you like a burrito and made your way to the kitchen. You plopped down with a grunt as the sudden upright position had made you dizzy, you propped your elbow on the table and let your head rest in your palm trying to regain composure. He stood idly by watching you, waiting for your reaction to his kind gesture. He had watched John take care of you the first day noting how one takes care of another human being in your situation. He had concluded that fluids and sleep were on the top of the priority list and seeing as you had camped out on the floor most of the day, the task of preparing food and tea had been left to him. When John left at first he had whined and protested to keep up appearances, but he secretly liked being the one to make you feel better. He wasn’t ready for the world to see that yet, he was barely ready for himself to see it. Something kept stringing him along in that direction and he had given up trying to fight whatever natural tendencies he had buried deep within him. Mycroft may have been wrong all along. 

You took the spoon in your hand swirling around the noodles before putting a small spoonful in your mouth. You closed your eyes as it made its way down your throat and into your stomach making it feel all warm inside. You were still cracked and broken from last week but the soup and company seemed to be helping everything come together again. Sherlock returned to his violin and began playing something you had never heard before.

“Are you composing?” you asked between gulps. You hadn’t eaten in almost a day and this soup was the perfect thing to get your appetite back. He nodded and wrote a few notes down. He was going to tell you he always felt inspired when you were around but opted against it. He closed his eyes and let his hand guide the bow across the strings making little notes that sounded almost like a group of birds chirping a happy chorus. You swayed to the music a little wanting to dance but your limbs ached and sitting up to eat was the most you could handle right now. You quickly finished your bowl and brought it over to the sink, running warm water over it and then over your hands. They felt stiff and unused as you stretched your fingers trying to loosen them up. The warm water felt good under your muscles and you suddenly realized you probably didn’t smell so fresh.

“I want to shower” you said more to yourself than to him. He stopped playing and pointed his bow towards the bathroom door. 

“All my stuff is in my flat” you said as you started to make your way towards the door. He set his violin down and grabbed you from behind pulling your back to his chest. He bent down and nuzzled his nose into the nape of your neck.

“Just use what we have” he said into your ear. You shivered at his touch and turned to face him, falling a little into him as your head still pounded. He ran his fingers in figure eights around you lower back. You unintentionally pressed your hips into his and bit your bottom lip. Was he doing this on purpose? Now you really needed to shower. You got an idea into your head and smiled sweetly as you pushed away from him. He was doing this on purpose and you were not one to sit back and let it happen without a fight. You threw your blanket to the side and began sauntering towards the bathroom. You pulled your tank top over your head nonchalantly, spinning back around to face him and make sure he saw you. Just as you thought; his eyes were glued to you as you walk-stripped backwards to the bathroom. Next you slid your fingers into the waistband of your sweatpants and slowly glided them down your legs until they pooled at your feet. You stepped out of them, kicking them to the side before you turned back around so your back was to him as you reached behind yourself grabbing your bra and undoing the clasp with your delicate fingers. You heard his breathing increase as he followed you like a predator stalking its prey. You let out an over exaggerated stretch, arching your back with your hands raised to the ceiling before sliding your palms down your sides as you turned so your body was in profile view. You turned head to face him, moving one hand to the doorknob as you pushed your way in and making a point to rub your hand over your exposed breast before stepping into the bathroom. You left the door cracked open as you took off your panties and went to throw them out until a hand caught yours. His eyes were glued to your face but you could tell by the ever-growing bulge in his pants he was not thinking about your face. You dropped your lace panties at his feet and hid your body behind the door. 

“Not now Sherlock” you said as you fake coughed into your free hand, giving him a pained expression.  
“I’m sick” and with that you closed the door and locked it, turning the shower water on and stepping into it before you let out an amused giggle. 

He stared at the dark wooden door decided what his next move was. His brain was having trouble functioning as all of his blood was swiftly flowing south. He closed his eyes and tried to think of anything that would help that situation. The sound of your laughter slowly morphed into what he assumed you would sound like moaning, and that definitely did not help his pants loosen. He grunted as he walked over to the head he had in the fridge and stared at it until he felt his eyes were going to pop out. Once his pants situation had been fixed he turned back towards the bathroom door and wondered what to do to keep his mind off breaking it down.

He grabbed his phone from the desk and clicked on the picture Lestrade had sent him, it was a candy wrapper found in the dead girl’s pocket. Upon further inspection he had found residue that matched the toxin found in the duplicated blood cell and a logo on the front of the shiny wrapper read ‘Pretty Girl Candy Co’ in puffy pink letters. He needed to ask you more about your dream as he recalled you had said you thought you knew where Luca was cooking up his new drug. He trudged towards the couch and laid himself down on it facing the ceiling, combing over the facts in his head. He was at a dead end, the crime scene had given enough evidence to conclude that they had been there when they had died. The boy that was there had been shot once in the head from a sniper, though he was forced to swallow a the same pill as Harper to make it look like a double over-dose. Whoever killed him had a strange set of skills, the ability to hide a bullet hole to the head with some sort of time set disintegrating makeup and force a pill down the stomach of a corpse boggled his mind. Where does a person learn such a thing on top of being a very good sniper?

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, pulling the crime scene up in his mind and tried to visualize the room. The bullet had come through the wall not the window, a blind shot like that would need very intricate planning. When he had wandered to the room where the bullet had come from, he hadn’t found much other than the partial footprint was from a man wearing work boots that had been somewhere where purified sugar and floor cleaning supplies had been used. His eyes popped open at the same time the bathroom door opened, letting steam roll out onto the floor. 

“Candy shop” he said leaping from the couch excitedly. You frowned; your plan had not given the long lasting effect that you had hoped. His outburst had also brought back the horrid dream, and the reality of your situation. Your headache had been enough to stop you your thoughts but the steam of the shower helped clear your sinuses and now your brain was able to work. You slumped down on the floor wrapped in a towel, hair wet and clinging to your face. You set up a tunnel for your memories so that not everything would hit you at once. Harper was dead, Cassidy had been killed and Luca had somehow found you. You knew Moriarty lived in London but you had long forgotten about that hot mess of a crazy fuck, and you never dreamed that Luca would still be in cahoots with him. You thought he would have shot him in the face by now, but apparently his drug creation had saved him from Moriarty’s ever-impending boredom that brought people to an early grave. 

Sherlock cringed at your reaction to his outburst; you hadn’t talked about anything since the morgue. You buried yourself in your work as you always did, and your cold had obviously given you another distraction. He made his way to you, trying to focus on the task at hand and not your glistening body. He cleared his throat as he began to talk.

“Do you know anything about a candy shop called Pretty Girl?”. You sighed and started to laugh uncontrollably. Sherlock wasn’t exactly sure what was so funny as he waited for your laughter to subside. 

“I’m sorry. It’s not really funny I just..” you huffed trying to keep yourself from having a mental breakdown. 

“Luca used to call me ‘Pretty girl’. He always thought candy was a great cover; the smell of everything mixed with the constant flow of families in and out would bring no suspicion if he had a drug ring operation in the back. That’s what my nightmare as about. He always said it was our dream, and I just went along with it. Why?” you asked turning your head downwards and looking down at the water droplets falling of your legs creating tiny little pools on the floor. He took his phone out and knelt down to show you the picture of the candy wrapper Lestrade had found.

“This was found in the girl’s jacket”

“Harper” you said looking up at him. He blinked and nodded.

“Do you know where it would be?” he asked you. You shook your head in sadness wishing you could help him.

“I’ll figure it out either way so don’t worry about it”. He extended his hand to help you up off the floor. You took his offer and let him pull you up as you ‘accidently’ brushed your naked leg against his crotch. He inhaled sharply and put his hands on your shoulders holding you in place. His eyes surveyed every inch of your face, the slight pink tint from the warm water, your wet eyelashes bringing out the shape of your eyes, and most of all your pouted bottom lip. Without warning he closed the distance between your mouths and ran his tongue along your bottom lip begging for entrance. You obliged and let his tongue explore yours, running along the back of your teeth in the most delicate way. His fingers tiptoed over your shoulders to your back and pressed you closer to him, taking one hand away to run his fingers up your inner thigh. You tried to gasp but he bit your bottom lip not letting you escape. He ran his finger up and down until finally breaking off contact letting you stand there in a daze.

“You’re sick, go to sleep” he said with a hint of sarcasm as he turned towards the door grabbing his scarf and coat.

“John will be home shortly and I’ve got to go to the lab. We are going to find that candy shop tomorrow so rest up” and with that he left you aching, stunned and wetter than before you had exited the shower.   
\-----------------------------

You and John were seated on the couch watching the T.V. when Sherlock returned, you both exchanged glances as the detective practically skipped in. 

“I’ve discovered the general location of this illicit candy shop. Let’s go!” he shouted. You winced at his booming voice, your headache had returned full force and you were in no shape to even put real pants on. You slid yourself off the couch like a slug and plopped onto the floor, pulling the blanket over your head.

“She’s still a little under the weather Sherlock, can’t it wait till tomorrow? It’s late” John stated as he patted you on the back. You nodded hastily in agreement as you heard them exchange a few more words with each other. After some whining Sherlock gave up and John said good night as he exited, presumably to go try and get laid. At least you weren’t the only one with that on your mind. You felt Sherlock’s body wrap around you as he joined you on the floor, stealing a pillow from his chair and placing it under your head. He hummed as he ran his fingers over the blanket, taking a piece of it pulling it down your face. He wrapped his leg around both of yours, continuing his tune as his fingers ghosted their way up your arm.

He placed light kisses on your cheeks, his eyelashes brushing against the side of your face. You weren’t sure what place in this winding road you and him had started down together and you were blind to its end, but you let him continue while his smooth vibration of a song echoed in your ears. You put your hand on the back of his head to press him downward as his lips found their way to your collarbone and made their way up your neck. You shivered and pressed your backside into him which seemed to be the reaction he was looking for because his movements quickly stopped. You whined as you turned to face him, trying to make your eyes as pleading as possible. Alas his eyes were already closed and the humming had stopped, you opened your mouth to protest but his fingers found his way to your lips.

“Shh. Sleep” he muttered without opening his eyes. You sighed half-heartedly and complied with his wishes, because you never knew how long this side of Sherlock would show.

\---------------------------------  
Your back shifted awkwardly and you awoke with a yelp.

“Sweet mother of fuck” you said loudly as whatever bone was aligned incorrectly rudely fixed itself. You looked around you and your outburst had not woken your sleeping partner, he still looked fast asleep. You placed your finger under his nose to make sure he was still breathing; the man looked like a corpse. His breath softly made its way to your finger signaling he was indeed still alive. You pulled yourself up, your headache was almost gone finally, and you looked at the clock on the wall. It was 9am and you knew Sherlock wouldn’t be up for a few hours. You brought yourself up to a standing position and made your way towards the window. It was foggy, light grey clouds sprinkled over the morning sky. You could tell by the crunchy leaves whirling their way down the sidewalk that dressing warmly would only benefit you, and you made your way to the door back to your flat. It felt like it had been an eternity since you had seen your own things, and even longer since you had held a surgical instrument. Hopefully accompanying John and Sherlock would speed the day up so you could return to your life at the hospital. You stripped and hopped into your shower, the droplets copying the kisses Sherlock had given you last night and it was enough to send your mind wandering into dangerously dirty territory.

Feeling refreshed you grabbed your favorite jacket and the scarf Cassidy had given to you, plum in one hand and your medical kit in the other you walked back upstairs. You found Sherlock asleep on the couch and you sat in his chair and watched him. The rise and fall of his chest was subtle and methodical, his sleek cheekbones framed by his messy hair, his long fingers clasped together on his chest. He turned his head to face your direction opening one eye then slowly closing it again. He wasn’t ready to get up yet, so you let him be. You hung one leg over the chair and the other on the floor as you grabbed your needled and began practicing a stitch you would be doing over a young girl’s heart. Almost her literal heart as it had grown out of place, so it was directly under the thin stretch of skin instead of being guarded by muscle and bone. You delicately threaded the needled through the skin of the plum as to not puncture the juice-filled fruit underneath. You had nearly 10 stitches in before you punctured through and felt your hands get sticky, letting out a groan of annoyance. Sherlock opened his eyes at the noise, staring at the fruit in your hands. As if he suddenly remembered your task of the day he shot up muttering to himself a little too fast for you to understand. He stared into nothingness as he waved his fingers in different spots before staying on one. Turning around as he clapped his hands he walked into his room to change and motioned you to come with him.

“What about John?” you asked setting the plum down and licking the excess juice of your fingers. You weren’t meaning for it to look that sexual, you really just didn’t want sticky hands. Sherlock watched your finger slide out of your mouth and you realized it before he did.

“For a sociopath you’re pretty perverted” you said laughing as you wiped your spittle on to your jeans. He glared at you as John entered, staring at the two of you.

“Who’s perverted?” He asked not bothering to shrug his coat off. He knew you guys were about to head out and any type of protest would render Sherlock pissy, and that was not something he felt like dealing with before 5pm.

“You, clearly” the detective said as he looked John up and down before waltzing out the door. You raised your eyebrow at John who was beginning to blush.

“What is he-?”

“Shhhhhhhh” John said pulling you out the door 

You shrugged to yourself and trotted down the stairs unsure of what today would bring. The sun had sunk into a large bank of clouds and the outside world got a little darker. You were fighting with an idea in your head unaware of it was a good one or not before you bumped into John. Sherlock was on the sidewalk seemingly waiting for you to catch up as a cab tottered forward to his raised hand. 

“Are you going to get in?” John asked pushing Sherlock towards the car.

“I don’t know where we are going,” he said looking past him at you. You nervously fiddled with the change in your pocket. John looked back at you concerned before grabbing your shoulder lightly.

“Graveyard” you said quickly. You grabbed onto John’s arm and followed him into the cab. Sherlock was last and he shut the door sitting across from John. You gave the driver directions and you suddenly felt nervous like you were going into a job interview. You hadn’t been there since her actual funeral, and you assumed they would bury Harper next to her sister. The thought made your already beaten up heart radiate with pain, neither of them deserved the death they got and you wished you had taken the time to help Harper. You remembered what it was like being trapped in a hole so deep you couldn’t even see light anymore, how people judged you and ridiculed you like it was so easy to just quit. Your breath fogged up the window and you drew Harper’s initials in it before it disappeared. John rested his hand on your knee giving sympathy through his warm touch. You were lucky to have become so close so easily to both of them, to be cared for by complete strangers more than anyone other than Cassidy. You had failed her family, failed her, and failed Harper. The winding road left bare trees behind you for thicker and larger ones as you exited the city limits. A few turns of the wheel and you had arrived. You stepped out before the two men, walking a few feet in front of them. You weaved through the headstones and flowers trying not to look at any of the names, you had one destination in mind but you didn’t expect to see what lay ahead of you.

The grass crunched under your feet as you slowed from a brisk walk to a full stop. Cassidy’s grave looked unchanged by time and there were dead flowers on the right and new purple one’s on her left. Orchids were her favorite flower and everything that girl owned was purple. You smiled at the faint memory of when she gave you her scarf and you brought your fingers to it grasping it tightly. It wasn’t purple enough for her and she had tossed it to you after a long night of partying, you were half-asleep on her floor eyes closed as your high faded away. You never washed it, but never got it dirty so it was stuck in time with her scent, her warmth and you could hear her laughter when she had tossed it at your face stating it would make you look pretty for Luca. Your chest tightened at his name, and as you finally let the world come back to view you saw another headstone covered with a sheet, an empty rectangle dug into the ground. You sank to your knees running your hand along the freshly moved dirt, and placed your head down. Sherlock and John stood under an old oak tree with its branches gnarled into a twist, leaves hung loosely signaling its loosing fight with the coming winter. Sherlock fought the urge to comfort you and instead look around him. Dead flowers and few live ones were kept in assortments along all of the headstones, some cracked under the pressure of snow and rain while others looked polished and new. Graveyards never bothered him, it was eminent that everyone he knew would die at one time or another. Grieving was part of the circle of life though he had never witnessed someone he cared about going through it. He looked to his left and noticed black smoke coming off in the distance, smelling sort of like burned sugar. He nudged John and pointed towards the smoke, the stack hidden among the rolling hills. 

“I am so so sorry” you said quietly through tears. You had never cried so much before, you had never really cried at all when anything happened. The last time you had really cried before all of this catastrophe was rained down on you was when your mother had passed away. Nothing had rocked you like this that and you had never let it. The pills, coke, and liquor numbed the world as you fell into your rabbit hole of self-hatred and loneliness. You felt a presence bore its angry eyes at your side and you turned to see a pair of Michael Kors boots. You looked up to see who they belonged to, though you already had a feeling of who it was. Cassidy and Harper’s mother stood stone faced in front of you and she looked like a ghost. The softness of her skin faded with age and loss, her blonde hair had grey patches and her bangs hung loosely in front of her honey colored eyes. You opened your mouth to speak but she stomped her foot like she used to when you and Cassidy would come home at various hours of the morning, so angry she couldn’t even speak to either of you and didn’t want to hear whatever bullshit story you both had concocted. You rose to your feet and waited for her to say something to you.

“Do not come to the funeral” was all that came out of her mouth. Her words were sharp and ruthless, consuming your body with their edges and dragging themselves down to open every party of your body up. She turned on her heel and left without another word, leaving you broken and torn apart. You looked over to see John and Sherlock had made their way towards you, obviously close enough to hear. You didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to look at their pained expression as you pointed towards the smoke and began to walk towards it. They followed you closely, stepping over the headstones shooting from the ground as you opted to step on them. You let the emptiness fill with rage and determination. You didn’t care about yourself anymore actually, you didn’t care about anything. You wanted him to feel the pain he had caused you, wanted to watch his life burn before your eyes. Fuck jail, fuck a trial and fuck everything that was supposed to keep you on a grounded path. This was your battle; John and Sherlock were just along for the ride. You nearly stomped all the way there, a brick building coming into your view. You sprinted towards it while hearing John yell at you to stop. Sherlock had anticipated your reaction and was already running the second you took off. All three of you arrived out of breath at the front of the old candy shop. Yellow and pink letters framed the dark window and the door had been left wide open. You walked forward only to be stopped short by Sherlock’s hand. John lifted his gun from his pocket and stepped inside. He walked forward slowly, using his free hand to search the wall for a light. He flipped the switch and the light flickered on revealing a retro looking candy shop with an ice cream bar, glittering red bar stools, shelves lined with clear glass jars full of gumballs, suckers, gummy bears and everything in between. The last light against the wall flickered on and revealed black spray paint in large block letters.

“Nice Try, pretty girl” John mouthed. You and Sherlock entered as you read the wall, you sank into a nearby booth staring at it. He had won, again and it became clear to you that he would only come out of hiding if you gave him a reason.


	8. Sweet Set Up

You stared into the empty booth in front of you, the cheap plastic covering the stereotypical cherry red fabric distracted you from what was going on around you. You tilted your head to the side trying to figure out how they managed to get the plastic to fit so perfectly on the fabric, and in turn how they got it to sparkle like a freshly polished car. You don’t know how long you had been staring at it but it had apparently been enough time for John to conclude that this whole thing was a set it up. 

“Let’s go Sherlock, there’s no back part of this building anymore. There’s no hidden switch to open up the walls” he said exhausted. Sherlock didn’t respond as he walked from the corner of store he was running his hands down and took a seat on one of the bar stools. He began to spin himself in a circle; the old metal squeaked and moaned as it spun his weight around. You had no idea what the point of his little excursion was but you decided it was far more interesting than sitting in this booth watching. You took a seat beside him and waited for his body to align with yours and you pushed off the ground and spun with him. John took in the sight of this not exactly sure what was going on but decided he would rather not fight against it. He too took a seat on an empty bar stool and waited to synch up before pushing himself into a circle. There the three of you spun in perfect unison with each other around the empty store. You weren’t sure what the purpose of this was, but for you it was a perfect way to escape. The store around you squished together, the walls began slipping from construction and morphed into what reminded you of a fun house at a fair. You closed your eyes and let your equilibrium go to shit as you got dizzier and dizzier with each rotation completed, loosing yourself in the feeling of chaos. You lifted your arms up without thinking and prominently smacked John in the face causing both of you to stop spinning. He let out a hearty laugh as you cupped your mouth widening your eyes.

“Shit I'm sorry John I forgot where I was for a moment,” you said trying not to laugh. He smiled at you and looked up to realize Sherlock had left the stool and was standing behind the counter inspecting a cylinder glass jar full of gumballs. 

“What are you doing?” you asked jumping off the stool falling into the counter trying to regain your balance. You stumbled over to him grasping various objects until you reached the shelf he was at. You were too short to see so you stood on your tiptoes trying to poke at the jar but Sherlock smacked your hand away. He lifted the glass top, grabbed a few of the colorful gumballs, and threw them against the wall. They bounced everywhere leaving chaos in their wake, going different directions shattering some glass jars, one hitting John in the side of the head and the others bouncing off the window. 

“I’ve never seen gum do that before” John said rubbing the red circle on the side of his head. Sherlock smiled and reached his long fingers all the way in, fighting to get under to what were now obviously bouncy balls. You heard a click and the floor opened up underneath you, shifting into itself. Sherlock grabbed you by the waist and pulled you back so you wouldn’t trip as a flight of stairs made their appearance. With a triumphant smile he motioned for John to come forward. 

“Stay” he said to you. You glared at him, crossing your arms and looked over at John for some sort of support.

“Stay” he repeated following Sherlock down the steps. You heard the creaking of their footsteps until they hit the ground floor and saw their flashlights turn on. There was no use fighting them on it and regardless of what they found you had already formulate a plan in your head. You hadn’t told them about the various texts from jumbled letters and numbers, you had only told Mycroft. They ranged from threats to love notes to come back to me poems all written in creepy rhymes, you knew Luca had a thing for Dr.Suess but he always contorted it into some cryptic game that you had to listen to. You weren’t afraid of Luca there was no point, he had the body strength of a cornstalk and the agility of a dead cat, it was his brain that was lethal. Face to face he didn’t stand a chance against a strong wind. Mycroft had texted you earlier today that he had traced the calls back to a burner cell phone found in a dumpster outside the city limits so he had likely connected the two and would be arrive at the shop shortly. You hummed to yourself trying to get the edge off that someone was watching you as you turned to survey your surroundings. You reached for the butterfly knife you kept in your boot and whirled it around your fingers elegantly, jumping on the counter and swinging your legs up so you faced the door. You looked around cautiously at the rainbow-filled jars, wondering how long this place had been here. You tried to imagine Moriarty stepping foot in here but something about the set up didn’t seem like his work. He was all about hiding in plain sight but the bright pink and yellow lettering in the windows drew too much attention for him. Paranoid little fucker hated attention unless he had full control of it. Turning your head to look down at the stairs a glimmer caught your eye, something gold was shimmering behind a large statue of an overweight pig in a baker’s uniform holding out a tray of muffins for the world to see. You stood up on the counter so you were level with the tall shelf it rested on and walked over towards its location. Stretching one foot across the ledge towards the shelf you realized it would be a small jump and hopefully your weight wouldn’t topple the shelf over on you. Without hesitating you jumped and grabbed onto the shelf knocking the bridge of your nose into it. It stung, making your eyes water but the shelf seemed to be anchored into the wall, so you let your weight settle into the arches of your feet as your heels hung off the lower shelf. Gripping with all your might you reached your right hand out behind the muffin baring pig and grabbed behind it. You felt a small metal box make its way into your palm as you jumped backwards, bending your knees as you landed. You straightened up and smiled proudly feeling kind of like a ninja when a rustle from the door caught your eye. You grabbed your knife you had put in your pocket and held it out in front of you, as if it could really do any damage from far away.

“Woah sorry to scare you, I guess I beat everyone here” said a short pale man holding up a forensic kit. He had light blonde hair and grey eyes, his lips were too thing making his eyes bulge out and his nose pointed downward. He smiled a creepy smile and pointed to an I.D. badge hanging from the side.

“I’m with forensics, the names Damien, everyone else should be here shortly,” he said. John popped his head up from the trap door holding his gun up.

“Are you alright?” he asked making his way up the stairs, turning towards the man in the door. You nodded as the short man made his introduction to John. You heard the sound of tires screeching and the opening and slamming of doors, as Lestrade strolled in with Anderson and Donavan in tow. You smiled and gave him a hug, resting your head on his chest. He patted you lightly as motioned for everyone to spread out and begin collecting whatever they could. Sherlock was the last to come out of the trap door, looking around at everyone he raised his eyebrow at your current entrapment with Lestrade. You really did like Lestrade but you had used the hug as a distraction to hide the tin box you found up your sleeve. Before the creepy science guy had scared you, you saw your initials on the box and new Luca hid it so only you would notice it. It gave you shivers knowing he still had you figured out, no matter how much you changed some of your mannerisms were stuck in your DNA and ever flowing out in your daily interactions. John pointed a few of the men down towards the underground staircase while you tried to shove the box further up your sleeve. Lestrade began speaking with Sherlock and from what you overheard it had been empty all for a few footprints he had found, they were barely there but it was enough. Sherlock then began questioning Lestrade in a voice you had never heard him use before, it was darker and deeper than you thought imaginable and it sounded like he was a bit on edge.

“This was set up, clearly by the writing on the wall he wanted this place to be found. The smoke was coming from here but the cleanup of this place had to take people three days to do, they left the oven downstairs burning raw sugar so that the smell would get our attention along with the smoke. It’s only visible from the precise spot we were standing in the graveyard so how exactly did he know we were going to be here?”

“What are you getting at?” Lestrade said defensively as Sherlock stepped closer to him. His mouth twitched as he narrowed his eyes trying to find any hint of foul play.

“Someone is leaking information, clearly. She’s only received text messages which means they don’t know where she lives, I’m assuming Mycroft is keeping that location a secret but no threats have been made in her locker which would usually create more of a panic in a person so he doesn’t know where she works either. Which means someone on your watch who saw us in the Scotland Yard the day she saw the de—Harper in the morgue set off this chain of events. They couldn’t follow us without being noticed nor could they defer their daily activities to keep their true nature a secret, so whatever information has been given was enough to know that she would be visiting the graveyard sooner than later and we would find this shop. So, who. Is. It.” He said loudly. The whole place was silent; you looked all around you suddenly feeling panicked, as did Lestrade. His face started turning the color of a tomato, Sherlock began walking in circles peering at each and every person in the room. The sudden breaking of glass echoed as he turned sharply towards the culprit. Damien stared down in horror as a microscope slide had fallen and shattered everywhere, a dark blue liquid had spilled over it from a drink that he had been holding in his hand, the cup rolled towards Sherlock feet as you waited for an outburst. You were almost one hundred percent sure this man would die today. Everyone looked to the detective for a response, John had sprung up from the stairs and was waiting intently, getting in position to tackle Sherlock. Instead of a rage-filled strangulation, he walked over and set his hand firmly on Damien’s shoulder. He smiled a big, clearly fake, smile and sighed.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t even realize I had knocked it over and the sound startled me and-and I, I am so sorry I will go downstairs and make sure I will get another sample for you!” he screeched keeping an eye on the hand the rested on him. Sherlock simply nodded and ushered him downstairs, breathing deeply before turning to Lestrade.

 

“Never mind” he said and turned towards John. Lestrade look dumbfounded as the rest of the room, John however didn’t seem fazed by him and had his eyes strained on you. Fuck, the text messages. You hadn’t even thought about how Sherlock had found out, but you were about to get ripped a new one from John. The ping of your phone saved you from a severe brother-like-rant as you whipped your phone out and showed him the screen. It was Mycroft saying the car was waiting and that you needed to get to work in a few hours. John walked you to the door, turning to give you a hug before you left.

“We will talk about this later” and with that he pushed you towards the black car. You huffed as you slid into the car next to Mycroft, watching the sun slowly fade into the ground as night took over. 

\---------------------------------------------------

You made your way through the pediatric floor, rounding on a few patients before stopping at the door of your miracle case. Well it wasn’t YOUR miracle, but she was a miracle just by being alive. Little 5 week old Charlotte had beat all the odds, she was born with Ectopia Cordis; her heart had grown outside her thorax leaving it open to all kinds of complications and problems. The disease was so rare and had such a rapid death rate that after she was delivered they had already told the family to prepare themselves. They couldn’t operate until she was a bit older if she had even made it, and everyone watched as the new parents cried for days. After weeks in the NICU she was transferred to her own private little room, her stats were increasing daily, and you had the happiest news to report. Her test results showed that she was healthy and old enough for her life changing surgery and in a few days you would join the team to put her heart back into her body. You couldn’t help but smile as you made your way through the sliding glass door into one of the warmest rooms imaginable. The amount of love and support this little room had inside it was enough to make any sourpuss feel like the world was on their side. Pink and purple balloons covered all the corners, flowers by the dozens decorated every possible place making the room smell like spring. Her incubator had puffy pink hearts painted on it, her parent’s had laid down a pink fuzzy blanket to cover the bland hospital one as she lay there sleeping, grasping onto her tired mothers hand. You grabbed her chart from the bed and stood to the side as the main pediatric surgeon, Dr.Whintin made way into the room, followed by Dr. Sutton. 

“Good news Mrs.Stevens, Charlotte’s stats have stayed solid for this past week, her weight is on track so we are able to schedule her surgery for tomorrow morning, this is Dr. Sutton our lead cardio surgeon, he and I have picked out the best surgical team for your little girl and we are going to put everything in the right place and you can finally get her home” she said with a smile. The mother burst into tears and you had to look up at the lights to stop from crying with her. The father had just returned with coffee and he grabbed Dr. Whintin surgeon into a firm hug. She was startled but hugged back and smiled. They allowed you to go over the details of the procedure; you received a warm hug from both of them as you exited handing the chart over to a nurse and asking her to get the papers for them to sign consent. You skipped over towards Dr. Whintin announcing you had finished rounds. She handed you another chart and pointed towards the last room on the right, stating she had come into the E.R. last night with five broken ribs and a fractured hip. 

“What happened to her?” you asked as you flipped open her chart reading. She was 15 years old and had a mile long E.R. record. Broken fingers, toes, alcohol poisoning twice, two 48 hour psychiatric holds after attempted suicides and two overdoses. You gulped at the last part; she sounded an awful lot like you minus the suicide.

“Has social services been contacted?” you asked looking towards the door. 

“Yes, after the alcohol poisoning incident they were called, and she was sent to a mandatory AA program. They were called every time after that” she said sadly. 

“Why haven’t her parents been arrested or custody been taken away? She’s obviously in harm’s way!” you half shouted in anger. Dr Whintin pulled you into the hall and looked around before shoving her hands in her lab coat pockets.

“I have tried multiple times to get them to do something more but the system is flawed. She's a foster kid and every time she has been admitted she had run away, all her injuries were caused from bar fights, her suicide attempts have been from drug-induced breakdowns. You know foster homes are underfunded and unreliable; half the kids end up on the street before they turn sixteen. All we can do is try and help her while she is here before they release her back into the system's clearly incapable hands” she whispered. You felt so angry you thought your head would explode, but you held it in and turned towards the room. Only the light of the TV. was visible and the soft clicking of the remote signaled she was awake. You knocked before sliding the door open and flipping on the light. The girl didn’t turn towards you, just closed her eyes at the sudden onslaught of fluorescent bulbs.

“Yeah?” she asked still flipping through the same channels. You looked her over, her chestnut hair was dreaded and hung halfway down her back, pulled into a low loose ponytail. Her face had a large gash from her cheek up to her ear like someone was trying to pull a black dahlia with a beer bottle, her left arm was black and blue with shades of red circling the darker spots all the way up to her shoulder, where a tattoo of two birds flew at each other. You looked down at her chart and cleared your throat before speaking to her, but before you opened your mouth she turned to you and you stopped. Her once sparkling green eyes looked dark and lifeless, like they had seen a thousand years of cruelty and despair. You knew that look, hell you mastered that look but yours was always hidden by your pearly white smile. She had no intention on hiding her feelings, and for that you decided she was braver than you had been. You set her chart down on the bedside table and gave her a sad look.

“You’re not invincible” you said. You had a long speech prepared; stating that life was worth living and that she would see the light at the end of the tunnel one day blah blah blah, but her eyes had shot that horse in the face. You knew she was far from a speech being helpful and you understood that place too much, so you just let yourself speak freely.

“That’s the point,” she said, not turning her attention away from you. She reached behind her and grabbed a pink plastic cup with and placed her lips on the straw, sucking in a big gulp of water. She winced at her movement, obviously still sore and stiff from her healing ribs. You walked over to her and grabbed the cup from her hands, holding it steady while she drank. She removed her lips and you placed the cup down at her side, trying to rack your brain for something else to say to her. Your situation was vastly different but almost completely identical to hers. You had nobody to help you, the only thing that brought you to your senses was your exhaustion from being broken all the time. You had always been smart and the need to party and be numb was soon taken over by the need to show your father you were more than just a pile of wreckage he could ignore. The constant nagging feeling finally made itself apparent that this way no way to make him feel sorry for not helping you through your mother’s death, for deciding that you weren’t important enough to get his attention. You wanted so badly to break free from the chains that tied you to Luca and the parties and most of all, though you hated to admit it, Moriarty helped you see. To this day you don’t know if it was intention or just his way of fucking with your mind, but one conversation and suddenly you whole world spilled open and you could see the downward spiral that you had set yourself on. As he spoke in his high-pitched tone you felt yourself floating further and further away from everything that had once drawn you in. He said that he didn’t like how Luca had dragged you down to a mere coke addicted toy for him to play with, that he despised everyone that fell in your circle but they made him money and gave him connections that he so desired. How you could be great with him, but he would never trust a druggy, especially one who thought her rebellion would fix her blatant daddy issues. That’s when it hit you, you didn’t want to be his partner in crime anymore than you wanted to be Luca’s, you weren’t sure what you wanted to do at the time but it was in that moment that the fog cleared and you had never looked back. You looked at the girl before you and decided you wanted to be her savoir, not for the glory or the feeling but for that tiny sliver of hope you wanted to bring her attention to. She must have read your face because again she wouldn’t let you speak.

“I know what you’re thinking, or rather what you want me to do. To realize that I can change and all that other sunshine and rainbow shit. I don’t want to change, I am happy in my own misery. I fought, I’ve been fighting and I’m exhausted. I don’t mind anymore, if this is what is supposed to happen to me that I’ll let it. I don’t start fights to prove anything, and I don’t overdose on purpose. I do it because the few time’s I’m not in pain I don’t know what to do with myself, I miss it, I crave it. The pain is my home” she said. She then looked up at you with her dead eyes, locking you in place like you were turning to stone.

“What is the point of fighting if you just keep getting turned around in the same direction you came from.” And with that she turned towards the TV and clicked the remote again, flipping through the same channels she had before. Instead of you being the almighty I beat addiction lady you wanted to be, she was the one with empowering speech, the one who sent you speedily walking through the hallways trying to keep yourself together. You swung the door open to the bathroom bracing yourself on the white marble sink staring into the drain. Droplets of water made their way down and swirled into the open hole, the cold feeling of the marble felt good on your hands so you decided it would feel good on your whole body. You laid yourself down the cool tile of the bathroom floor, staring into the ceiling patterns, the swirls of white and grey dancing together. You heard the door squeak open as a two nurses piled in, giving you a disgusting and questioning look before whispering to each other about you. You grinded your teeth and promptly flipped them the bird, you didn’t care how many bathroom germs were finding their way onto your body or what they thought of you. The truth was they didn’t know anything about anything, and you were slowly feeling like you didn’t know anything anymore either. Your phone beeped and you slid the unlock screen to find a message from Sherlock. 

‘Scotland Yard, Now- SH’ it read. You huffed, peeled yourself off the bathroom floor, and headed towards the locker room. You ripped your clothes off you suddenly disgusted with everything around you. Your breathing became erratic as you realized people were staring at you.

“WHAT” you screamed. They all scattered like scared cockroaches as you mumbled profanities pulling on your sweater and jeans. Grabbing your coat and scarf you slammed your locker shut and heard your books topple over each other behind the metal door and you proceeded to flip off your locker as if it would offend it. You ran down the stairs two at a time wondering what dead friend you would find in the morgue now. 

\--------  
You opened the door to the Scotland Yard and Lestrade looked like he was waiting for you. You gave a wave and headed down the hallway, tripping over yourself. You may have made a stop at the pub down the street from the hospital, and you maybe had a few shots of tequila, and a few also maybe equaled 5. That you could remember. You spun around a little too fast and fell into the wall, letting out a loud laugh as you tried to stable yourself. You saw a blurry Greg come towards you and grab your arm giving you a look.

“I have..Sherlock is in the dead place” you said giggling. He cocked his eyebrow at you and brought his hand to his nose.

“You smell like you just stepped out of a margarita,” he said leading you over towards the chair. 

“He’s also in the holding cell, not in the..dead place” he pressed a button his the phone at a desk and asked for Sherlock’s release.

“Whaddihedooooo” you said in one word trying to hold your head up. Everything was hilarious and your hormones were raging. You couldn’t even remember what sex felt like and you hadn’t been home enough to take care of that with your little battery powered friend. You decided this was good information to share with Sherlock once he..where was he again? John and Sherlock appeared out of seemingly nowhere as you raised your hands to the boys, smiling wide.

“JAWWWNNNNNN” you said as you jumped up to hug him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and put your nose on his, smiling from ear to ear.

“You..are pretty” you said as you kissed both his cheeks.

“Are you dru—Is she drunk?” he asked Lestrade as he pointed to you. Lestrade nodded and handed him a paper to sign for Sherlock. You turned to the detective who was eyeing you oddly and you blinked trying to regain focus.

“Which one of you is the reeaallllll…Sher..Sherlawwwwk” you said unwrapping your arms from Johns neck and feeling blindly as the fuzzy two Sherlocks infront of you. John dragged his palms down his face and inhaled, grabbing you by your waist and hoisting you over his shoulder.

“Come on black-out betty” he said as he exited with you. You pounded his back with your fist and fought him as hard as you could.

“I am not betty, now let me gooooooo!” you wailed. He tightened his grip around you and stopped when he got to the steps, deciding on if he should try this venture with you wiggling on him or not.

“I will set you down if you behave” he said sternly. You nodded in agreement and he gently set you down on the sidewalk. You realized neither Sherlock’s were with you and you sloppily turned towards your friend. 

“Where did they go!!” you asked pointing at the sky. John looked up at where you were pointing and just shrugged it off, there was no point explaining anything to you in this state. You had clearly had a bad day already and he didn’t want to add to your burden. He turned to hail a cab and before he knew it you had taken off down the street, running in a zigzag pattern partially because you couldn’t see straight and partially because it seemed fun at the time. John groaned and cursed at the sky, as Sherlock appeared behind him.

“She’s going to the nearest pub John, don’t act so worried” he said fixing his coat. 

“Where the hell did you go, and did you finally wash the blood of your knuckles?” he asked as they both started walking in your direction. You had slowed your run to a skip as you sang incoherently, sounding like the happiest drunk on earth. 

“Not exactly. Go back in and take this sample to Molly. Tell her I need it immediately” he said as he handed John a few slides with blood on it. He nodded and looked in your direction worriedly.

“Try not to be so..”  
“Me” the detective finished turning on his heel to follow you. John sighed and hoped whatever was going on with you would be okay, and that Sherlock wouldn’t make it worse. The night was clear, the stars sprinkled themselves over the high-rise buildings, and nobody was out right now. It felt like it was just him and you and the stars. He kept you in his eyesight as you turned and opened the door to a tiny hole-in-the wall bar. He heard loud music coming from the door; the windows had an eerie glow of bright yellow framing the windows. He opened the door and was assaulted by the smell of alcohol, sweat and cigarettes. An old biker with a long grey beard eyed him as he sipped on his beer, and gave him a wink. Sherlock blinked and searched the nearly empty bar to find you at the other end of it with two shot glasses, a lime and some salt.

“SHHHEERRLLLLLLLYYYY” you yelled waving him over to you. A larger man with a goatee and a jean jacket with no shirt underneath was chatting with you, leaning on the bar to get his face close to yours. He whispered something inaudible in your ear as you tried to push him away, Sherlock increased his speed to make his way to you. 

“HHHiiiii” you said as he made his way between you and the man. The dude got the hint and made his way to an empty table, glaring at you both as he slid into the booth and pressed his beer to his lips. You swayed to the beat of the music, your fingers still wrapped around the two shot glasses. You handed him one and licked your wrist, pouring salt on the now wet skin and handed the lime to him.

“Kay, its lick, shoot it, then bite!” you said pointed to him. He usually didn’t partake in drinking, especially tequila but he didn’t feel like fighting you or leaving you alone. So he licked the salt from your wrist tenderly, poured the tequila down his throat as a sour look appeared on his face. You laughed and shoved the lime in his mouth and then took your shot.

“What happened to the salt and the lime?” he said as he took the lime out of his mouth and threw it on the bar table. You shrugged and pulled him close to you, and you steadied yourself as you got up on the bar stool so you could be face to face with him. Kneeling down on the warn leather you placed your nose on his, trying your best not to fall over. He placed his hands on your hips to steady you, the smell of tequila waved through his nostrils and his throat still burned.

“I have a surprise for you” you slurred as you pulled him into a kiss. He responded hesitantly and pressed his lips back to yours, not granting you the access you wanted. You pouted and jumped down, pulling his arm in the direction you were going and kicked the swinging door to the bathroom open. 

“Your surprise is a bathroom” he said looking around at the vile surroundings.

“Nooootttt..exact-o-leee” you said as your hands found his belt buckle. You yanked at it multiple times without having any success and you stomped your foot angrily. He let out a small laugh and grabbed your hands pulling them to his chest.

“Not here, not now.” He stated, picking you up bridal style and carrying you out of the bar. The cold air felt great on your face, it was burning from the alcohol and the stars looked beautiful. You wrapped your arms around his neck and buried your face in his scarf, inhaling deeply. You let your eyes flutter closed, the soft beat of his shoes meeting the ground melting into the background . He heard you murmur something but your speech was so slurred he wasn’t entirely positive he heard you correctly, but he smiled and pressed his lips to your for head.

“Yes, I am yours” he whispered as he made his way down the street not bothering to hail a cab. It was the perfect night for a walk and he didn’t want to miss the feeling of your warm body on his even for a second.


	9. Thanks Dad

Warmth from the morning sun made its way through the blinds in thin slivers across your face. You crinkled your nose while turning your face the other way, determined for your body to ignore your dehydration and possible need to vomit up last night’s mistakes. The slight movement of your head caused the bed you were occupying to ripple underneath you as if it was floating in unruly waters out at sea. You groaned and tried to go back to sleep as your felt an arm fall gently on your chest, fingers caressing the sides of your face. You soon became aware that your lower limbs were entangled with another pair of legs underneath contorted sheets, your legs were bare and you felt the tickle of fabric on you. You smiled at the hazy memory of Sherlock taking you up to his flat and laying you down in his bed. You had only woken up enough to take off your pants and shirt before grabbing one of his and promptly passing out with your ass in the air. So lady like. His soft breathing began to lull you back to sleep until you felt faint kisses in your forehead then on your nose and finally on your lips. You sighed into his lips and let the gentle massage wake you. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer to you, running your fingertips down his bare shoulders. You opened your eyes and were met with his bright blue ones, enchanting you like they always did. You pulled him closer by the drawstring of his pajama pants and placed your hand on his thigh. He shuttered as you teasingly created spiral patterns with your fingers and let them roam up and down his thigh to his stomach and back down again. He licked his bottom lip and dove at your collarbone, kissing roughly as his hands found their way into your tangled hair, pulling to give him access to your neck. Your decided you had teased him enough and your hand made its way under his pant line, unfortunately your passion was stopped by a loud knock.

“Sherlock, I can hear your making weird noises again. C’mon you were bugging me about going back to the crime scene before you punched that forensic tech” John shouted from the other side. You both stopped and he removed your hand from his pants which made you whine from sexual frustration and your hangover. He hushed you and kept his eye on the door with the sudden realization he hadn’t locked it. A thousand thoughts were going through his head and he panicked, he wasn’t ready for John to see this. Not yet, he needed to have everything mapped out and he hadn’t had time. The doorknob turned, the door squeaked, and his hand shot out as he roughly pushed you off the bed. You yelped and grabbed the sheets trying to stop yourself, but the sheer force of his push was enough to slam your body into the floor, adding to your list of injuries last night’s decision had cost you. The door swung open as Sherlock shot up to stop him from entering any further.

“Uh” John said looking to the corner of the room after a quick glance at Sherlock’s state. Sherlock blinked, bringing his hands to his crotch to cover his arousal. 

“Alright let’s go” Sherlock said making a motion for John to leave his room. 

“Are you going like that?” John said smirking. Sherlock frowned and looked back to the side of the bed that you had taken your dive off of. You lay their motionless, also not wanting to explain this whole situation to John. Your life felt like it was being pulled in a thousand different directions, each one of them threatening to destroy the other if you made one wrong move. You held your breath hoping John would leave so you could find your pants and maybe your dignity. 

“I need a muffin” Sherlock whined. John rolled his eyes and turned around grumbling about over-sized toddlers. Sherlock shut the door and breathed a sigh of relief. You sat up a little too fast, falling back down and turning on your side. You spied your pants under the bed and grabbed them, rolling onto your back again and pulling them up your legs. You stared at the ceiling and slowly moved yourself upright again, trying to regain any sort of grace. You pulled yourself on your feet, rubbing your eyes, trying to find the words you needed to say.

“You, are an ass” was the most eloquent sentence you could form this early and this hung over. Tequila was a spiteful bitch. You shuffled around the bed looking for your shoes and avoiding Sherlock’s gaze.

“I didn’t know what to do” he said quietly. 

“I understand not wanting to have John walk in on us but do you really need to hide me? Are you embarrassed by me because I feel like you could do a lot worse” you said heatedly. The room was starting to spin again as you sat on the bed pulling on your shoes. You fumbled with your flats until you realized that you had the left one, which clearly wasn’t going to fit on your right. You hated hangovers, you rarely ever got drunk and you knew once you started it was a slippery slope downwards again. You promised yourself that you wouldn’t let this happen again, it was a onetime thing for a very very bad day, though this morning was slowly catching up to yesterday’s bullshit. You got your shoes figured out and you set your palms on the mattress, deciding on if you should run for the bathroom or vomit in his bed out of spite. 

“I am not embarrassed by you. I just, this is new. I don’t even know what this is. I’m attracted to you physically, that part is easy. Everything else is complicated and it takes up too much time” he said walking towards you. Usually you had the patience to deal with his bluntness but you were already too full and if you had to pile one more thing on you feared you would drown in it all. 

“Well excuse the fuck out of me for taking up your precious time!” you yelled finally hitting your boiling point. You slammed your feet on the ground and made your way around him and to the door. He went to grab you but you smacked his hand away, starting a small sprint to make a hasty exist before things got even more heated than they already were.

“My time is precious right now I’m trying to make sure you stay safe!” he yelled back, following your pace. You spun around to retort but everything came too fast and before you could stop it the remains of last night came spewing from your mouth onto his bare feet. You dry heaved a few moments afterwards, bracing yourself against the wall. You suddenly felt better emptying yourself, and the fact that it had landed on Sherlock made it a thousand times better. 

“Karma is a sneaky bitch” you said to him. You didn’t give him enough time to react, making your way out the door and down to your flat. He stood there in a shock, closing his eyes and counting to ten before he opened them again. John passed you on your way out the door, giving you a wave as he made his way back upstairs with Sherlock’s damn muffin. He heard the sound of the shower when he entered, setting the white paper bag down on the table.

“I thought you wanted a muffin” he said to the closed door. 

“I had to wash something off” he said over the water. 

“Wash what off?” John asked slightly confused. Steam rolled out from under the door causing a smoke like effect as he waited for the answer.

“Karma” he whispered letting the warmth of the water distract him from his thoughts. He would need to choose what he wanted, this back and forth was obviously causing you pain. He didn’t want to anger you, for once in his life he wished he could think like an average person. Just for one second so he could figure out how to approach this whole subject. His body was easy to follow, lust was a simple emotion fueled by hormones. Every time he was able to succumb to his urges the flow came naturally to him, the pressure points on your body radiated in his eyes while your experience was like kerosene to the fire that burned whenever you touched him. The mere thought of having to navigate through the actual emotions tied to his physical attraction to you sent him over the edge, he became unsure and confused and he hated that. He never wanted to be off his game and nothing ever threw him as hard as you did, his balance was off and that’s where the trouble lied. He had no idea how to continue being himself while you crowded his mind, he couldn’t push you aside and unlike the one other woman that had ever thrown him for a loop, you didn’t intend to use or betray him. You never hid from your feelings and that he admired, how you were so confident in your feelings. The few things he knew about your past had made it clear that no human was void of emotion, though it was easier and it didn’t come to him naturally, you had made it apparent that it lied dormant underneath his quirks and genius. He shut off the water and stared into steam that surrounded him. Maybe he was over complicating this and that like his body knew what to do his mind might also know how to handle this, however your patience was already wearing thin with him and he needed to figure out a way to show you he wanted the same thing you did. He exited the shower and wrapped his body in a towel, stepping out and heading towards his room. He would figure that out later, right now it was more important to unravel this plan that he was sure was destined to hurt you in the end.

\-------------------------------------------

Your arm was sore as you had unsuccessfully tried to place an I.V. in your arm for the umpteenth time. You tried to poke one more time and were finally successful and the stares you got from the other residents turned into a slow clap. You glared and flipped off the whole room while holding your I.V. bag up trying to fight off your hangover before Charlotte’s surgery.

“If you’re too hung over I don’t mind taking your place” said Devon. You had no idea what made this girl hate you so much, but from the rumors you heard she had been a fan Sherlock. Apparently she had stumbled on his blog and spent a lot of time reading it which baffled you because it was about as interesting as paint drying. 

“I may be hung over but I can still stab you in your sleep” you said loud enough for only her to hear. She took a step back then turned to her friends behind her whispering something as they left you alone, laughing at whatever joke she had made at your expense. You had somehow made it to the hospital two hours before the surgery was supposed to be, and because you weren’t technically working till later today, you didn’t have to do rounds or be anywhere being productive. So there you sat among the dirty scrubs and uneaten food alone with your thoughts and angsty situations. The whole point of coming back to England was to make new memories here, not be taking a stroll down fucked up memory lane. The only reason you ever came here on breaks was because of Cassidy, she was your one friend you had made at your boarding school in New York, and she always wanted you to come home with her instead of staying in your empty childhood home. You hadn’t realized how deep everything would carve itself, a few months seemed to turn into a lifetime of events. Summers spent tripping acid on the warm evenings, raving in warehouses in the winter. You knew it would come to bite you in the ass eventually, which is why you had to work your ass off twice as hard to even be considered for an Ivy League school. Your dad could have made a donation, he could have pulled some strings but of course he didn’t even think you’d finish pre-med. You were glad he never helped you get in, and you hadn’t even told him you got in until you aced the MCAT. Yet here you were despite his negative sarcasm and thoughtless insults, a great surgeon. A great surgeon who shouldn’t have drank that much tequila. Your decision making clearly hadn’t gotten that much better as you thought it was a good idea to involve yourself in a man who damn near made you want to rip your hair out when he wasn’t making your skin ache for his touch. You started to feel a little better as you regained hydration though your head still felt like Satan was tap dancing on the back of your eyeballs. You thought about what happened this morning and vaguely remember John saying that Sherlock had punched a forensic tech and that’s why you had been called to the Scotland Yard. You groaned remembering Lestrade saying something to you which meant you had made an ass of yourself in front more people than you thought. You glanced at your phone and figured it was time to get up and shower, your I.V. bag was empty anyways. You pulled the needle out and tossed it aside, opening Devon’s locker and stealing an apple she had in there. Moron couldn’t even think of a good lock combination. You took a few large bites and tossed the remainder into the trash, turning on the warm water while stripping of your clothes . You wouldn’t let the outside world take away the happiness that your talent brought you, so you did your best and tried to let the sinking feeling you had in the pit of your stomach disintegrate and fall into the drain as the water cleansed your body and you hoped it would cleanse your mind as well.

 

\------------

The operation had gone well and her parents were overjoyed. Happy tears fell everywhere as their family applauded your team when you wheeled her back into her room. She had on what was similar to a turtle shell, a protective shield that covered her whole body and left her limbs free. It had a heart cut in it to fit over her literal heart, so it would protect her body while she healed. It was a bright pink color to match everything else she had in her room and you could have sworn she smiled at you from her sleepy state. You were thanked again as you made your way out of the pediatric wing and over to the nurse’s station. You flipped through her chart finishing the needed notes and signed off on it, leaning over the desk you waited for your favorite night nurse to realize you were awkwardly close to her.

“No” she said. You pouted and pressed your hands together like you were praying and widened your eyes.

“Pretty pretty pleaaasee” you said with your sweetest voice. She didn’t even flinch when she slapped your hands away and turned sideways getting up to walk away from you.

“Go troll for cases in the E.R. like every other resident in here, I am not going to tell you if anyone might need surgery. If I need an ortho consult I’ll page you!” she said with a wave of her hand. You grumbled incoherently laying your head down on the counter. You had just started your ortho rotation and after the heart surgery you were stuck on it for the week. Apparently your chief felt like cardio and neuro had been favoring you and every good surgeon needed a well-rounded education. You didn’t like bones, they broke too easily and sometimes surgeries could be cool but most of the time it was boring. You did a one-eighty and made your way to main lobby, pretending to kick the automatic door open. When you lowered your leg you saw Mycroft leaning against the wall, watching people move about with a disgusted look on his face. Before you could sneak off he waved you over and you hung your head, dragging your feet to meet him.

“What” you huffed.

“Follow me” he recited in his mundane tone. He seemed to be in a mood and you were defiantly not ready for another Holmes brother anti-emotion attitude. He looked back at you as you had not moved from your stance waiting for an explanation. You expected an eye roll, a huff of annoyance and a snarky comment about how you were lucky he took time out of his day to come find you himself and not just send one of his people to fetch you like yesterday’s newspaper, instead he turned around and grabbed your arm. There was a flash of something in his eyes before they went cold again, sadness? 

“Just..come with me, it will only take a minute or two” he said pulling you towards him. He looked like he was pleading with you, so you nodded and followed him down the stairs and out the door that led to the back hallways where the extra equipment was stored. You walked side by side in silence; the emptiness of the corridors gave you a squeamish feeling as if you were walking into something deadly. You stepped outside to be greeted by a foul smell from the mixture of garbage and food delivery being carried into the back of the cafeteria. You wrapped your arms around yourself trying to figure out what was going on, the air nipped at your exposed flesh and made you shiver. Mycroft still had said nothing while he took his phone out and tapped on the screen. A large limo made its way from your left and pulled to a stop in front of you. A man in a suit stepped out and held the door open, you turned to Mycroft hoping he would be looking at you. He was staring off into the distance refusing to make eye contact with you. You knew what waited in that limo and you felt your body shake with anxiety. You gulped and made your way to the door, pushing yourself onto the leather seat and sinking into it as the door shut behind you. You crossed your legs and began jiggling them like you always did, turning towards the man sitting diagonal from you. Your father was like a vampire, he never looked older or left the confines of his luxury cars in the daylight. He had on a sharp black suit and a blood red tie, hair slicked back with soft highlights of grey taking over his once black hair. His eyes brows framed his sunken eyes as they narrowed taking sight of you, looking you up and down before pulling a cigar from his inside pocket and a silver lighter from the other. You started picking at your nails wondering if maybe you should have saved your karma bile for his shoes instead of Sherlock’s feet. You laughed to yourself remembering the look on his face when it had happened, snorting louder than you had intended to. 

“Quiet” he said loud and strong enough to make you stop mid-giggle. You straightened your back and smoothed your hair, folding your hands in your lap and looked ahead at the black screen that began to rise up to give you privacy. You doubted those things were sound proof, even if they were you were positive the driver already knew your dad was an asshole. You looked down at your folded hands and cursed under your breath, your learned behavior never went away and you hated him for it. Your autopilot kicked in and you waited impatiently for him to speak.

“You’ve impressed me” your eyes went wide as the words fell from his mouth. You turned your head towards him while he took a puff from his cigar, making no point to blow the smoke away from you. You did your best not to cough but the thick smoke was making your eyes water. Your small glimmer of excitement was soon subsided by the inner knowledge that this was not going to be a compliment and you waited for him to spit his venom.

“Your ability to bring shame to everything I have built even years later is an impressive feat. It took a lot of favors to get those pictures down and now I hear you’re shacking up with another lunatic. Have you learned nothing from your previous engagements or are you just that much of a whore” there it was. That was the daddy you knew and loathed. Your body stiffened and the meter that measured the weight you could bare at one time was setting off alarms in your head. 

“Your sexual deviance isn’t my main concern; I am just here to insure that you do not pull some ruthless stunt at the benefit on Saturday. Mycroft will accompany you, and see to it that you are only there to pose as the perfect little daughter I’ve paid the media to report on. I’ve had to spin so many lies for you I’ve lost count.”

“You know I’m a surgeon now right or did you forget that while you were lying about everything” you spat. Where the fuck did that come from? You braced yourself for what was to come next as you weren’t entirely sure if it would come in the form of a hand or a harsh word. 

“Yes, I am well aware that is impressive to most people, but I am not most people and your ability to cut and sew body parts like it’s a talent doesn’t move me.”

“And what would move you?” you asked biting your lip. 

“Not even your death, sweetheart” and with that last loving sentiment he knocked on the window. Your entire body felt like lead as you were removed from the seat. Mycroft was still standing, waiting to escort you back into the hospital. With all your might you held your head up and strolled by him into the building. He caught up with you and grabbed your arm but you yanked it from him and increased your pace. You were almost running when your breath became ragged and you felt like the walls were closing in on you. You ignored your oncoming panic attack and sprinted back into the hallway unsure of where your feet were taking you. You made your way the stairs and you stopped in front of them waiting for your breath to catch up to you. Somehow Mycroft had made himself appear behind you and again tried to get your attention.

“Fucking hell how do you do that you magical robot” you panted, leaning on the railing for support. His suit looked pressed as usual, not a wrinkle anywhere to be seen but his presence didn’t seem as dominating as it usually did. His demeanor hadn’t changed, neither had his lack of facial expression other than the usual constipated glare he wore daily but something in him had shifted. His phone was still in his hand, white numbers flashing like a call had just ended. His eyes grazed down your body for a moment then back up to meet your own blank face and you knew he was trying to read you. You didn’t have to read him and he didn’t have to read you, the connection of brain waves you both had oddly created between months of him nagging you about your actions before you made your way to London had created some weird half-sibling like bond. You knew he had hacked into the limo phone and heard the whole conversation, he knew you were slowly breaking piece by piece and that a big chunk had just fallen off into the fiery hell pit that was your life. You knew he knew how you were feeling, and that was all you two needed.

“Do not let his own inadequacies interfere with your greatness” he said. Your heart skipped a beat, his eyes went soft while he spoke. You smiled the first genuine smile that had graced your lips in a few days and gave him an understanding nod. Without a change in expression he spun on his heels and glided down the hall. You made your way up the steps trying to silence the pressing urge that had awoken. Your stress levels added on with your fabulous encounter with your father created the perfect brew of self-doubt that made you feel like you were in a time warp. You tried your best to shake it off when you entered the heavily populated lobby. Your eyes scanned over the various doctors until you found the ortho attending standing by the nurse’s station. You maneuvered your way to him, tapping him on his shoulder. He turned his head slightly, his glasses falling down further on his nose.

“I need some bones to break, please” you asked. He smiled and grabbed one of the charts sitting on the desk and flipped it open.

“I’ve got just the case for you” he said gleefully handing you the chart. You clapped your hands and took it from him, following him to your new version of anger management.


	10. Dinner & Secrets

While you were busy breaking bones to help stop you from going on a rage induced murdering spree, Sherlock was at the lab staring into a computer screen, contemplating going on his own spree. The screen glared back at him with menacing, hollowed grey eyes of Damien, though his occupation was defiantly not in the forensic field. John watched him from the side, dialing and informing Lestrade about the situation while keeping his eyes on Sherlock. His blood felt like fire coursing through his veins, his knuckles turned white from griping the table so hard, and he thought carefully about his next move. Damien had destroyed the minor evidence from the candy shop and when he and John returned the place had been burned to the ground. John had to restrain him from marching into the Scotland Yard with a baseball bat and swinging it on everybody who had let this happen. He picked the laptop up and threw it on the ground without a word, keys from the keyboard flew everywhere and the screen made a cracking sound as wires rubbed together causing sparks to fly. John hung up the phone just in time to see his laptop become desolated. He too was angry but you didn’t see him walking around destroying Sherlock’s things.

“Sherlock that was MY LAPTOP” he shouted grinding his teeth. Sherlock rubbed his face with his hands groaning in agony and dropped to his knees. John had never seen him so..emotional, he looked like his world was falling apart, he was unraveling at the seams and didn’t know how to handle it. John knelt down near him, not sure if he should touch him or not. Sherlock gave him a side-glance and closed his eyes again, trying to think of something, anything. Suddenly his brain started cycling faster, rapid firing like artillery in an air strike. He shot up and grabbed John by the arm without explanation.

“Sherlock my laptop!” John cried trying to keep up with his pace.

“I’ll buy you a new one!” Sherlock replied ignoring John’s angry glares. They made their way outside without incident walking briskly to hail a cab. Once the two were inside Sherlock gave the driver directions and sank into the back of the chair, jiggling his legs.

“Are you nervous?” John asked eyeing the detective. Sherlock let out a little laugh and rolled his eyes.

“Please” he responded. John recognized the path they were taking; it was one they took recently. Buildings started to crumble before them, the further they drove the wearier and cold the outside looked. Brick buildings contorted from years of abandonment, graffiti tags decorated their outsides and dead, wet leaves scattered their overgrown lawns. The fall had taken a harsh toll on the sun as it began to sink behind the broken buildings and dark clouds. The cab pulled over to the cracked sidewalk and they exited, making their way towards the building Harper had been found in. John pulled his jacket closer to him, shivering under the sudden onslaught of cold air wrapping around him. The yellow police tape was still wrapped around the building, tattered and misplaced but untouched by human hands. Sherlock ripped it down and entered the old building that still smelled of latex gloves and chemicals. They made their way up the winding stairs, skipping steps that looked molded, John placed his hand on the stairwell and instantly regretted it as his slight weight cracked it and it fell down the three stories they had just climbed. He blinked while Sherlock shot him an annoyed look from across the building.

“Sorry” John said to nobody. He hastened his step looking for any changes from the last time they were here. The wallpaper was still a dark green color; mystery liquid dripping from the corners of the crown molding creating a creepy sound that was always in movies before some dead little girl jumped out from the ceiling. Sherlock made a sharp left on the fifth floor, pushing the door open with a loud creak and was greeted by chalk outlines of the two bodies they found here two weeks ago. He looked around, retracing his steps; he knew he was missing something. The disappearing bullet was just magic, chemicals mixed delicately but the killer had time to place makeup over the hole in his head well enough that nobody noticed until it started to dissolve. There was no sign of a struggle but he knew somebody had to be watching. Unless the sniper had x-ray vision there had to be some sort of feed going from this room to the other.

“Are you going to tell me what we are looking for or should I just stand here looking pretty?” John asked making his way towards the detective. Sherlock shushed him and held up his hand to stop him from moving any further. John stopped in mid step, holding his left foot in the air trying to balance.

“Don’t move” Sherlock said to him not bothering to look his way.

“Sherlock I-“ 

“No moving!”

“Sherlock I’m not a pelican!” he shouted. Sherlock ignored him waving his finger in the air making paths from the floor to the walls and up to the ceiling. He shut his eyes for a moment going over the buildings blueprints, mapping out every place easily accessible and easily hidden. He smiled and turned towards the furthest corner from him and strode to it. Running his finger up the wall where the bullet hole was he dragged his hands up and over to the corner connecting the walls and ceiling together. His fingers glided along the crinkled wallpaper until they brushed over a plastic circle with a dip in the middle.

“You sly bastard” Sherlock said. He motioned for John to come over and pointed to the tiny camera hidden in the patterns of the wallpaper.

“Camera hidden in the wall” he pointed to the visible piece. John squinted and eyed the camera as Sherlock walked into the connecting room.

“You looking for the wire it would have connected to” John asked following behind. 

“No the sniper needed to make a quick getaway, the laptop would have had a wireless signal connected to the camera. He left the camera in the wall which means either they use this building a lot to murder people or he didn’t think he had time to take it. It was used primarily to take his shot from behind the wall without making himself known, but wireless cameras keep digital copies in the hard drive, either our sniper didn’t know about that or more likely he has gotten a bit cocky and thought he covered his tracks well enough with that magic makeup trick” he said enunciating the k loudly. Sherlock strolled with hands behind his back, glancing around the walls. He grabbed a hammer from his pocket and smashed it into the wall in a circular pattern.

“Do you always carry a hammer in your pocket?” John asked shielding his eyes form the flying debris. 

“Don’t be silly John” Sherlock said pausing to look behind him. After he had completed the shape he pushed his lengthy fingers into the holes and pulled the remaining wall out. The wood came out easily as it was molded and dripping with green goo. Sherlock reached into the wall and grabbed the camera, giving it a small yank to release it from the wires holding it in place. He spun it around in his hand, tossing it in the air before setting it in his pocket. 

“Let’s go” He said making his way towards the door flipping his collar up.

\-----------  
“We can’t show her” Sherlock said facing the shiny new laptop John made him buy on their way back to the Scotland Yard. His fingers were laced together under his chin as John and Lestrade circled him, all peering at the stopped footage.

“Sherlock we have to” Lestrade began but he was cut short by John jabbing him in the elbow. He knew he was right, with everything you have piled on right now this was the last thing you needed to see. The grainy film had revealed much more than any of them expected. When they popped the mini usb into the laptop the footage started with the room being empty, a few minutes rolled by before Harper made her way into the room. She turned to face the boy that was found with her, flailing her arms at her sides and saying something under her breath. Her pigtails swung as she shook her head and turned to start pacing while the boy pulled her shoulders to face her. They began speaking loud enough for the camera to pick up the audio and their voices pulsated through the speakers.

“It’s my fault!” she shouted pounding her fists into his chest. She began sobbing as he let her pound into his chest for a few minutes before giving into her tears, burying her head in his chest. He patted her head and began to speak.

“You didn’t know, you were just doing what you were told. ” he said trying to console her.

“Tell me it’s not true, how could he have twisted his lies so well? I knew she wasn’t dumb enough to talk! I need to talk to Luca or he’s going to kill her! ” she yelled pushing off him. They stood staring at each other for a moment, her hands nervously fiddled with her black leather skirt.

“What kind of man sets up his own daughter to die…” she trailed choking back her tears.

“We need to find a place for you to hide, Mr.___ finds out you know” he said pulling her hand to exit.

“No, I have to tell ___, someone needs to bring him down! Let go!” she shouted pulling her arm away and walking away from him.

“Harper! If you tell Luca will kill you, he needs Mr.___’s money to fund everything!”

“He was in love with her, he wouldn’t if he knew the truth!” 

“She didn’t love him, everyone knew that, he knew that. Why do you think he jumped at a reason to kill her as soon as he could!?” he shouted trying to motion her back towards him.

“Moriarty wanted her alive for this long, I have to tell him. He won’t let Luca touch her!” she wiped the tears streaming from her eyes, her voice was getting hoarse and her legs wobbled beneath her.

“Moriarty cares about nobody, she wasn’t talking so he had no reason to kill her. He cares about Mr.___’s money just like Luca. You need to protect yourself now” the boy said as began to pace. Harper buried her face in her hands, and the boy took the opportunity to reach into his back pocket and grab something small that they couldn’t make out. He wrapped his arm around her neck, gripping onto her hair and pulling it back. She screamed in protest as he shoved a tiny pill into her mouth, holding his finger over her nose screaming at her to swallow it. He unclenched her nose after a few moments as her legs became jell-o and she fell into his embrace, he began to shush her as he set her limp body down. She was still alive but her head lolled from side to side, her arms and legs sprawled out like rag doll. She tried to sit up but he used his foot to press her chest down as he pulled out his phone.

“It’s done” he said and he closed his phone. He pulled a packet of cigarettes and held one up to his lips, turning to go when a loud pop was heard and he fell to the floor in an instant. Blood pooled from his head, his eyes staring directly into the camera before the feed was cut and the screen went black. 

Lestrade cupped his hand over his mouth and turned towards the door. He wasn’t sure what to do, or say, he had to tell Mycroft but Sherlock had already beat him to the punch.

“Do not tell my brother, not yet. He is employed by her father and if he catches wind Mycroft knows..” he didn’t have to finish his sentence for Lestrade to understand. He nodded in agreement and leaned against the table opposite of them. Sherlock closed the laptop and stared out the window, the tree branches scraped against the window filling the silent room. 

“So what’s your plan” John asked folding his arms over his chest.

“You will take ___ dress shopping for the benefit, I’ve already informed Mycroft I’ll be taking her and he can stand guard somewhere else in the vicinity. I have a feeling our forensic friend will be making an appearance in the shadows to make sure we don’t have any leads on their new place of work”. 

“I don’t..” Lestrade trailed off trying to put everything together. Sherlock sighed and turned to face him with a blank expression.

“What good does killing his daughter do? If he’s funding this drug operation she clearly didn’t know and had no intention of telling anybody. What’s the point of all this chaos!” Lestrade exclaimed his cheeks turning red with fury.

“The attention of a grieving father gets more attention than a happy family” Sherlock said. Lestrade blinked and his face was a medley of emotions; anger, shock, sadness and understanding.  
\------------------------------------  
Nothing could ruin this day for you. You skipped down your stairs humming random notes in no particular order, feeling freed from your anger. You had broken and reset almost an entire leg and you decided that you liked ortho a little better after that. You went to shove your key in the door but as soon as you touched it the door opened. You stopped breathing, pulled your keys in between your fingers like wolverine, and reached into your jacket pocket for your butterfly knife. You kicked the door open with your hands in the air ready to stab a bitch when Sherlock looked up from your couch. John was in the kitchen holding a teakettle, cocking an eyebrow at your ninja stance.

“What the, I could have stabbed you both!” you shouted exasperated. 

“I doubt you would have gotten that far” Sherlock said closing a book he had taken from your desk. You blew a stray piece of hair from your eyes, throwing your keys on the table and taking the cup John was handing you. You growled at Sherlock still angry about yesterday but you couldn’t say anything because.. well fuck it. You wanted to talk about it now and you would be damned if you were going to wait until Sherlock was ‘comfortable’ telling his best friend.

“I’m still angry with you for kicking me out of your bed this morning” you scowled. John paused with the mug at his lips staring at you as if you just spoke in a different language while spinning on your head. Sherlock didn’t even skip a beat as he rose to face you.

“I know” he said making his way towards you and kissing the top of your head. You didn’t know why he was acting like this, it was the first time he had even touched you while other people where in the same room as you. He entwined his fingers in your hair and tilted your head up to look at him, his emerald-crystal eyes met yours and you felt warm and tingly all over. 

“I’ll be accompanying you to the benefit tomorrow, Mycroft had something else he had to do” he said keeping his grip firm on your hair. 

“Uh, should I go” John said unsure of what exactly was going on. 

“You both should, she needs a dress remember” Sherlock said to him, not taking his eyes out off yours. You barely heard what he had said about a dress, you were too distracted by the radiating heat that was making its way up your thighs. You reached out to grab him but he caught your hands, placing light kisses over you knuckles.

“I’ve got a case that needs handled” he said. John and he exchanged a glance that you couldn’t read. John placed his tea down, walking over to your and patting your back.

“You’re not going with him?” you asked confused. Sherlock never went on a case by himself; it was very rare that he didn’t want John with him. In addition, why was he taking you dress shopping? He wasn’t exactly a girl, oh. You had no girlfriends, because they were both dead. You snorted at your own sardonic humor and then sighed, looking at the ground. Humor was the only way to get you through the day sometimes. You felt Sherlock let go of your hands and you let them fall to your sides as he exited without another word. You looked up at John and gave him a half smile, you enjoyed his company but you were also expecting a bundle of questions about the interaction that just happened between you and the notorious virgin. Actually, you didn’t even know if that was true, not that it mattered to you. It was a nice sentiment if you were to be the one to make him buckle under the pressure that nature created, being the woman who brought him to the edge of pleasure before diving off the cliff with him and making him scream your name. You were lost in the thought when you felt John poking your shoulder.

“Uh, ___, we should get going its getting a little late and I’m starving. Do you want to have dinner somewhere?” he asked fumbling with his pockets. Your stomach answered before you could, making a loud gurgling noise reminding you that a banana and a bag of gummy worms was not a sustainable diet. You grabbed your keys from the counter and headed out the door behind John. 

\-------  
The cab ride was lively; you always seemed to light up when John was around. His relaxed presence and his humor was just what you needed. Sherlock wasn’t really all doom and gloom but he had been so wrapped up in the drama that was constantly stalking you, you two hadn’t really spent time together other than him rescuing your drunken ass then denying you sex in the morning. You sighed when you thought of how close you were, how much you wanted him and the thoughts of what lied beneath his pajama pants haunted you earlier in the day when you were elbow deep in a mans thigh. The streets were bustling with happy couples and young bar patrons laughing, holding each other close and whispering funny secrets. It was Friday; you had almost forgotten that the days of the week meant something to people who had jobs that didn’t take up their whole life. You hadn’t really been paying attention to the time though Mycroft was constantly sending you reminders about the benefit tomorrow night. You still hadn’t told either of the boys about your father’s appearance, it brought too much dark and twisting sadness, and you weren’t going to let it ruin your time with John. He was the closest thing to a ‘girlfriend’ you had, and it also helped to have someone who understood Sherlock in a way nobody else did. You both had different levels of understanding with his quirks but he seemed to care for you both in a way that connected all of you. Before you knew it John was opening the door, holding his hand out to bring you out of your thoughts and into the perfect night. The sun was just sleepily falling back behind the city, letting the stars come out to illuminate the city below. The restaurant was slowly getting packed and you waded through people making your way towards the bar. You ordered a glass of wine while John ordered whisky on the rocks, downing it in one gulp before ordering another.

“Am I that bad of a date that you need to be drunk?” you asked jokingly. He smiled and swirled the ice cubes in the glass.

“Dress shopping gives me the need to be drunk not the company” He said smiling at you before taking a small sip of the brown liquid.

“Also I don’t think Sherlock would like me calling this a date” he said eyeing you quizzically. 

“Therreeee it is” you said happily, raising the glass of white wine to your lips.

“What no tequila tonight?” John asked handing you a menu. You looked it over, deciding that a carb overload would benefit you. You ordered the pasta and calamari, you couldn’t wait any longer the wine was making your stomach feel like it was burning. John ordered and turned his attention back to you. The lights above the bar were dimmed; the marble bar top glimmered and soft jazz was playing in the background.

“So you and Sherlock…fornicated?” John asked you.

“Fornicated, really?” You asked laughing before sipping on your wine. John laughed at his words and swallowed the rest of his drink, ordering yet another one. You asked for a glass of water as it seemed you would be the baby sitter tonight.

“I was trying not to sound to..vile with my word choice”

“So fornicate was the best you could come up with?” you asked laughing while squeezing the lemon into your water. He half choked with a laugh as he was trying to drink when you responded. You patted his back until he seemed to be okay as you both looked at each other then fell into a fit of laughter causing other bar patrons to glare at you. You put your hand on your mouth and tried to calm your breathing, but you were having entirely too much fun. John’s cheeks were a shade darker than usual from the warmth of the liquid and the laughter, the chatter of people around you faded into a hum as you continued your conversation.

“Well we were on the way there until his bastard flat mate decided to cockblock me” you said. His eyes widened as he faked shock and put his hand to his heart gasping dramatically loud.

“Who would do such a horrible thing!” he said. You smiled at him as your food was set down in front of you, the calamari placed in the middle.

“thank you lord!” you shouted and dove for the plate. You tried to eat as gracefully as possible but you were starving and the fork was too tiny. You half shoveled food into your mouth forgetting you were in public. You gulped down the last of the breaded delicacy wiping your lips.

“Oh did you want some?” you asked John. He stared at the empty plate then just shook his head at you, turning his fork in his noodles.

“No I’m alright, you needed all of that apparently” you smiled sheepishly as you straightened your shirt and dug into your pasta.

“So you and Sherlock, you’re like a thing?” he asked poking your side. You smiled a little, cleansing your pallet with the wine and nodded your head.

“We haven’t really talked about it, but honestly I don’t think it would get anywhere if I were to try. I think we feel the same way about each other, and he’s a little more handsy when we are alone together” you said. You smiled as the bartender refilled your wine glass and you thanked him, waiting for John’s opinion on the matter.

“Good. You two mend well together which is a sentence I never thought would be coming out of my mouth” he said finishing his pasta. You felt yourself glowing and you tried to push it down but John saw right through you and wrapped his arm around you pulling you close for a hug.

“Shall we go get that dress now?” 

“One more drink?” you asked him with a glint of playfulness in your eye. He raised his hand and ordered two shots of tequila for the both of you, and you rolled your eyes with a groan. 

“You deserve to have some fun, ___.” He said and handed you your shot. You believed he had your best intentions, you were a little unsure that you could keep yourself from taking it too far and he sensed your hesitation.

“I won’t let you go too far, I promise” and with that he clinked his glass against yours and you decided what the hell, you’ve got a good friend by your side and maybe letting loose was just what you needed.


	11. Oh, Sherlock.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pure smut. Just, smuttysmut all around.   
> *Jazz hands*

Stumbling towards the steps, attempting to not make a sound was not easy when your friend was drunkenly using you for a walking stick, sputtering drunken nonsense about wanting to find true love. You had failed at your attempt to buy a dress and failed to not drink, though after the two cups of coffee you inhaled before you left, you were barely tipsy anymore, but you had managed to have an amazing time. The conversation went from Sherlock to medicine to sex which inevitably led back to Sherlock where John accidentally slipped a little too much information about a woman by the name of Irene, which prompted you to hide your face in a giant mug while John knocked back shots as if his life depended on it. You were a hot mess of jealousy and jitters, he was just a hot mess of everything, and basically everything was a mess right now including your key ring because you couldn’t find which one went into the door. Finally after fumbling through a pile of metal you unlocked the lock and both of you made your way slowly but surely up the stairs. You opened the door to their flat easily, and John tripped over air and landed on his face which caused you to explode in laughter. Sherlock padded out of his room, wrapped in a white sheet with a scowl on his face.

“I’m assuming you didn’t find a dress,” he said trying to blink the sleep out of his eyes. 

If looks could kill Sherlock would be a pile of dust on the ground, he eyed you suspiciously working through what conversation you two could have had that would have caused you to be angry. He clearly hadn’t told you about their findings earlier or else you would have been pissed at both of them, so there was only one other thing that would make you angry. John pushed himself up and wobbled to a standing position, grabbing at the walls to stabilize himself.

“Good night London!” he yelled waving at you before once again falling over into his room. 

Sherlock walked over to him and swiftly kicked him forward, John yelped but it was muffled over the sound of Sherlock slamming the door. He turned to face you still wrapped in his sheet, his shoulders looked silky in the moonlight, his lips protruded in a pout as he waited for you to say something. You sauntered over to him drunkenly, trying to regain your balance before placing a finger on his nose. You smelled like coffee with a hint of John’s cologne, and your hair was a mess of loose curls hanging around your face. Your cheeks had a soft pink glow to them, making Sherlock smile unintentionally. You narrowed your eyes trying to find the right words; you were angry and sad but had no real reason to be. You had quite the colorful past and he had said nothing about your sexual deviance, so you had no right to be angry about the possibility that he had slept with somebody else. Tequila had other things in mind. 

“You…you loved a slutty slut woman..slut” you stuttered, unsure of why you were even opening your mouth.

He blinked unsure of what to say that would make this mess better. He placed his hands on your face, cupping your cheeks and bringing your face close to his.

“I have never loved anyone,” he said which clearly did not help as sadness filled your eyes.

“What? What now! I just said I didn’t love her!” he said huffing. 

He was not very good at this and he was not awake enough to deal with your habit of running away. You turned to flee and he grabbed your waist with both hands, dropping his sheet to the floor in the process. You tensed as you felt his naked body on your back, your shirt had risen ever so slightly, and his mess of curly hair above his cock tickled you. You decided to take this opportunity to prove that he didn’t need anyone else but you. 

You ran your hand down his length, making sure to press your fingers on the vein underneath it. He moaned and rolled his head back, grabbing at your waist and pulling you closer. You loved the way he sounded when he was at your mercy. You spun around, keeping your hand on his cock as you pumped it, bringing it to life. You placed open-mouthed kisses on his collarbone, dragging your teeth on it before nipping on his shoulders. He groaned and gyrated his hips into yours hand, lacing his fingers under your shirt and pulling it up. You stopped your activities down below and grabbed his hands forcefully, digging your nails into his hands.

“No” you said and pushed him backwards. 

He floundered and you pushed him hard again so he fell onto the chair, legs spread and breathing ragged. You took your shirt off slowly was you wound your hips in circles, bending your knees and dropping to the floor. Tossing the fabric aside you leaned back on your heels staring straight at him while unclasping your bra. He reached forward to touch you but you smacked his hand away, leaving a red mark and a sting in his eyes. You tossed your bra on top of your shirt and ran your fingers around your breasts, enclosing your nipples in your forefingers and giving a slight pinch. You bit your bottom lip at the tingling sensation it brought to your core, pinching harder and arching your back, looking at Sherlock through half lidded eyes. He was panting; his cock was stiff and pulsating, begging for your attention. His fingers gripped the arms of the chair and his eyes followed your body as you unzipped your pants, pushing them down to your knees and running your fingers along your exposed mound. You were happy you decided not to do your laundry, you had run out of underwear and your procrastination was boding well for you. He let out a whine of impatience, drumming his fingers on the chair getting ready to pounce.

“Don’t you dare” you said trying to mimic the darkness of his tone. 

He bit his bottom lip, snaked his hand down to his shaft, and began to stroke himself, his eyes fixated on your hands. You smiled and laid yourself down on your back so that your profile was exposed to him, sliding your jeans down all the way and kicking them to the side. You brought your hands back to your breasts, pulling at your erect nipples and moaning his name loudly. A quick shuffle of feet caused your eyes to pop open in protest, but he was too fast. Before you could utter a word his hand was on yours, gripping your wrists and slamming them onto the hardwood floor. His free hand wrapped around your nipple pinching it roughly. You cried out in ecstasy as he began to take control, making you wet between your thighs. He kissed and bit your neck, leaving tiny little bite marks and bruises along the side causing your back to arch into him. He growled in your ear before taking your earlobe between his teeth, you felt his length against your belly and you mewled in frustration. You felt him smile against you while he took his time dragging his fingertips down your stomach. 

“Do not fool yourself into thinking I can be controlled” he seethed all the while bringing his hand lower at an excruciatingly slow pace. You tried to control your breathing but it failed as you felt the tip of his finger ghost over your moist folds. 

“I may let you take the lead for a little, but I will always be in control,” he mouthed, slipping his finger in and pressing delicately down on your clit. 

You gasped trying to buck your hips but his weight wouldn’t let you move an inch. He chuckled and pressed down harder, guiding his finger into slow circles, quickly increasing the pace. You moaned and tried to break free from his grasp but he just held on tighter and you knew bruises were going to be there in the morning. You felt yourself on the edge, sheer pleasure shooting from your pelvis to your back and all the way up your spine. You panted and tried to form a coherent sentence as his one finger became two and they moved together so smoothly to create the greatest balance of friction and speed you had ever felt.

“I—Sher” you panted. 

He gave you a slight tsk and bit down on your neck. You moaned his name loudly, moving your hips towards his fingers as much as he would allow. 

“You-are-mine” he growled. 

With each word his fingers pressed harder and harder until you couldn’t hold it in any longer. Your walls clenched, coating his fingers even more of your juices, and he took this opportunity to slide them from your clit into your aching cunt. His long, slender fingers played you like a violin, finding your precious bundle of nerves deep inside you instantly and stroking it while his tongue worked magic in your mouth. You let him roam and explore at will, whining through his kisses. He took his hand from your wrists and used his free hand to prop himself up a little, locking his eyes with yours. You used your newfound freedom to spread your legs wider so he could get better access, entwined your fingers into his hair, and pulled yourself up into a sitting position. You moaned and gasped with each stroke inside you, feeling your impending release coming close. He pushed further and scissored his fingers which caused you to scream and grip his hair so tightly you thought you might pull it all out.

Not being able to take anymore he removed his fingers, hoisted your legs up, wrapping his hands tightly around your thighs, and pressed your knees into your chest. You released your grip on his hair, falling back onto the floor and whimpered, begging him to take you. His eyes roamed your body while he stroked his tip against your clit, he was taking his sweet time and you were going crazy. You ran your nails up and down his sides, feeling your skin crawl with anticipation. After what seemed like ages you felt his velvet tip press at your entrance, eliciting a low moan from his lips.

“Oh..this” he moaned. 

Without warning he thrusted into you hard, filling you up so deliciously. You cried out as he began thrusting in and out of you, hitting that sweet spot again and again. He pushed your legs down further, angling your body so he could get deeper into you. You weren’t going to last much longer, you began making noises that you’d never made before, electric shocks made their way down your entire body, blurring your vision and making the world spin. You had no idea how loud you were being but you could tell Sherlock was pleased with the sounds that were coming from your mouth, his half smiled twisted into a look of pure lust, while his gaze switched from your face down to his own cock, watching it dive into your cunt. He could tell you were close as he picked up speed, slamming into you relentlessly you could feel it all the way up your body. You dragged your nails down the wooden floor feeling it splinter under the pressure, you lost track of everything except the feeling of his cock deep inside you. Suddenly the world turned white as fireworks shot their way out from every pore of your body, you screamed his name loud enough to wake up everyone on the block. He grunted an approval before pulling out of you and stroking himself. 

You lay there panting; waiting for the feeling of his warm ooze on you, what you didn’t expect was to be hoisted up by your waist and turned around before being slammed back down onto something. Your face hit cool fabric and out of your hazy vision you knew you were bent over his chair, your knees digging into the metal legs. You felt him line up with you and before you could gather the energy to look back at him he was already slamming back into you showing no mercy. You gripped onto the chair trying to steady yourself, your knees were raw and bruising but it just added to the pleasure. You felt his hands tangle with your hair and one hand gripped your hip pulling your ass into his stomach. He pulled your hair and rode you all the while moaning your name and sputtering curse words. Your throat was dry and your cunt was dripping from the work his cock was doing, feeling yourself blistering on the edge for the third time. He was getting close now, his thrusts became uneven, his breathing increased and you took the little strength you had left and tightened your walls around him. That little action shattered him, he came hard and loudly into you, digging his nail into your hip and pulling you as far on him as he could. You felt the warm drip down your legs as you reached your own peak shortly before he did, the high that took you over was earth shattering. 

He laid himself down across your back, trying to catch his breath before easing out of you. He slowly rolled to sit against the chair while you slumped down, and fell to your side. You both looked at each other, rosy cheeks and sweat brimming from your heads and bodies. You smiled at him before rolling fully onto your back and inhaling deeply, letting the breeze from the window cascade over your hot body. Then the all too familiar feeling made itself apparent as you felt a waterfall drip out of you. You scrunched your nose and tried not to ruin the moment that you had waited so long for.

“Not good?” Sherlock asked worriedly, laying himself down next to you.

His skin was scratched and torn from you grabbing at it, his hair was sticking out everywhere but his eyes were soft and satisfied. You smiled and grabbed his head with both hands giving him a quick kiss.

“Amazing” you said before pushing yourself up to a sitting position awkwardly.

“I’m just..” you trailed, unsure of how to approach the subject. 

He looked at you bemused before seeing the catastrophe between your legs and nodded.

“Shower?” he asked standing up and stretching, holding his hand out to grab yours. You smiled and let him pull you up, pulling your body into his and giving you light kisses over your shoulders. You two hurried into the bathroom as the sun snuck its head out, warning that it would soon be time to join the rest of the world.


	12. A Night to Remember

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm going to go ahead and do a chapter dump, I was just slowly updating but since I started chapter 19 today I'm going to finish uploading all the finished chapters. To those who keep reading, enjoy!

The winter winds found their way to your skin, it felt like someone was dragging an ice cube down your spine. You fumbled around refusing to open your eyes, grasping at the mattress until your fingers found the quilt bunched at your waist and you brought it over your head, burying your nose in the warmth of the man lying next to you. He had been awake long before you had, the tequila from last night was coming to bite you in the ass again, but it was a price you would pay to have the activities of last night reoccur every time. You breathed deeply; inhaling the musk mixed with the cigarette he had smoked earlier, his skin felt smooth and perfectly taught against his lean muscle underneath. Your head fit perfectly under his chin as he lifted the blanket to join you in your fabric igloo. His lips met your hair trailing soft kisses until his finger found its way under your jaw to tilt your head up for a kiss. You giggled, running your hand down his stomach and into the dark hair that rested under his bellybutton, bringing his lip in between your teeth. He smiled as you released his lip and walked your fingers down further towards his stiffening member. 

“You have been avoiding buying a dress for tonight” he said huskily, the cigarette and sleep deprivation had brought his voice down another octave and you swore that man could melt chocolate by reciting the phone book. 

Without warning he hooked his leg around your thigh, jerking it to the side before slipping his finger inside your unsuspecting sex. You moaned and tightened your grip on his cock as your chest rose high, brushing your nipples against the cloth barrier above your head. He pressed another finger into your wet opening and wrapped his mouth around your shoulder, pushing his teeth into your skin softly. You bucked your hips while his fingers increased their speed, your hand sliding up and down his shaft in the same rhythm. Muffled moans filled the small island on the bed you had created, your bodies rubbing together bringing each other to the peak of pleasure, you felt your stomach tighten the same time his hips lost pattern and began sporadically pushing into the air and in unison you both succumbed to each other’s hands. His cum gushed out onto your fingers leaving a sticky mess as his became coated with your own secretion, panting and gasping for air you used your free hand to pull the covers down. 

The glacier temperature from outside felt heavenly on your heated skin and you released your grasp on him. He slipped his fingers out bringing them to his lips and sucking them dry, his cheeks were pink and his hair was matted down. You sat up and grabbed your shirt from the side of the bed, wiping your hand onto it and crumpling it into a ball. You leaned over him, kissing his closed eyelids and brushing your lips down the center of his face before descending into his neck. He grabbed your hair playfully and pulled you off him so you lay next to him, opening his eyes and waving his finger at you.

“Dress” he said bringing himself to a sitting position.

You whined and turned over to face the window while he laughed and rubbed his eyes.

“So is this going to be a permanent activity? ” you asked still facing the opposite direction.

Winter had seemingly come overnight; the cold air found its way through closed windows and the sky was colored a bright blue. It had to be sometime in the late afternoon which meant you only had a few hours to get yourself ready for the night. You felt uneasy about the whole situation, something about it was unnatural but at least Sherlock would be with you. You heard a sharp knock at the door and felt a hand shoot out to your shoulder; though this time you were prepared. You caught his hand and flipped your body over to face him, grabbing his waist with your free arm.

“I swear to fucking god Sherlock,” you growled at him. 

“I know ___ is in there, the walls are not sound proof. Neither is the bathroom door” 

John said sarcastically. You groaned and laid back down, hiding under the covers. In your dirty antics you had completely forgot that it was not just you two here last night, or this morning in the shower, or just now. You felt your cheeks getting warm again and now you had another reason not to leave the warm cocoon of the bed. You felt the bed shift as Sherlock rose to his feet, pulling on his robe and opening the door, calling your name. You grumbled and searched for something to wear, your hands found your favorite shirt of his, pulling the dark purple button down over your shoulders and inhaling his cent. You grabbed your underwear and jeans from the night before and hopped into them awkwardly. John had to be feeling horrible and you suddenly felt bad for keeping him awake. You walked out the door to see Sherlock sitting in his chair and John was laying on the couch face down, mumbling something incoherent about whiskey and sleep deprivation.

“So I’m gathering that I’ll be the one making coffee,” you said as you made your way towards the kitchen.

“You know John if you had done what you were supposed to do last night you wouldn’t be feeling like this” Sherlock said tartly.

John lifted one finger in the air and waved it for a few seconds before dropping it down and turning his face into the back of the couch. You laughed as you poured the coffee into the filter and pressed the button, churning and creaking as it brought itself to life. It looked sad and old; you would have to buy them a new one. You ran your fingers through your tangled hair, you needed to shower and find a dress but you didn’t want to drag John along with you. You poured the steaming liquid into some mugs and brought them to the boys, humming softly.

“I need that shirt.” Sherlock said sipping his coffee and pointing to the one you were wearing. 

You rolled your eyes and tapped John on the shoulder. He pushed himself up to sit, his eyes were puffy and he looked like a truck had hit him, you handed him the coffee and pat his shoulder.

“Why don’t you recover and I’ll go dress shopping by myself.” You said pulling your phone out and checking the time.   
Your heart skipped a beat and you noticed a message had popped up from an unknown recipient of jumbled letters and numbers. You gulped and quickly went to shove your phone into your bag without reading it and thankfully Sherlock wasn’t paying attention to you. You gave a small wave and hurried yourself out of the door and down to your flat.

“You going to follow her?” John asked leaning back against the couch his eyes closed. 

“I already alerted Mycroft this morning, we need to speak to Lestrade.” Sherlock said downing his cup and placing it on the counter. He threw a bottle of aspirin at John and made his way into his room while he ran through the information he had gathered yesterday.

\-----  
Lestrade stared blankly, trying to let the information he had just received settle into his brain. Sherlock tapped his fingers impatiently while John had a blank stare, peering over at the screen Sherlock had pulled up.

“Are you sure it’s fake?” Lestrade asked joining John at the computer. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes at their question, as if he was ever wrong.

“Of course it’s fake, have you never seen an American birth certificate before? Now we need to discuss the message I intercepted when I hacked into her father’s phone. The code was so simple a child could decipher it; their governments officials make Anderson look intelligent. He has ordered Damien to kill her at the benefit tonight which means we need all of your men hidden with the crowd. People he has never seen before, reach out to other cities, make sure to avoid Mycroft as he will be able to see right through every one.” Sherlock said slamming the laptop shut. 

Before you had staggered home with John, he had taken ample time to break into your phone and your father’s, reading through every pathetic message Luca had sent you. Tonight was the night everything would end, so you could finally focus on the medicine you spent years studying. He could tell your work was being affected, you hadn’t been practicing your stitches, you rarely spoke of anything you had done at the hospital recently. His chest tightened at the thought of your sadness and he needed everyone’s full cooperation for this to work.

“I’ll make sure we get everything right.” Lestrade said shifting his gaze between the two men. 

“I’ll need to give myself a reason to leave her side, give him the opportunity to strike.” Sherlock said pacing back and forth; his stomach was doing flips at the small chance that you would be hurt. 

He knew that there would be no attempt on your life if he was glued to you constantly; your father most likely would pull you from him at some point. 

“Greg will keep eyes on her father and I will keep a look out for Damien.” John said straightening himself to look at the detective.

“Obviously. Is this Greg person trustworthy?” Sherlock said turning to face his flat mate. John shut his eyes and groaned.

“I AM GREG!” Lestrade shouted.

“Riiiight” Sherlock replied giving Lestrade a suspicious look. 

Lestrade rolled his eyes and threw his hands in the air. Sherlock began pacing again, going over every detail of their plan, executing escape strategies for various things that could go wrong. He would never forgive himself is something were to happen to you, if last night hadn’t proven his feelings for you he wasn’t sure what else he could do to prove it. He never had an interest in sex, curiosity maybe but he had never met someone that made him feel that comfortable with himself. You had begun to carve away at these inner workings of simple-minded people that had been planted deep within his mind, outweighed by his genius but just as important, as it was soon turning into a beautiful statue. It was lust, desire, and passion all collected into one bundle budding into a beautiful piece. His stomach fluttered as images from last night crowded the maps of the building the ball was being held at, the way your face contorted when you lost all control, your voice ringing in his ears screaming his praises, the feral drive that you brought out of him, giving him the need to conquer your body over and over until he collapsed with exhaustion.

He had decided it was time again to pull out your little box; his information had finally grown big enough to organize. Sex was its own file now, with lists and pictures of everything that made you melt between his fingers, he pushed it to the side and pulled up the list of feelings you gave him and added ‘compassion’ to the list. He stared at it while Mycroft’s voice fluttered into his mind, though he had begun to enjoy everything you brought to his world, the feelings he was feeling now were proving Mycroft’s point. This case could have been solved by now if he wasn’t so in depth with the person it revolved around and he had considered backing away from you all together for a few hours after he had found how deep your story rooted itself. He tried to imagine his life as if you were just another neighbor, another human being that inhabited the same city as you. He felt his heart twist and pull in opposite directions and his throat felt like it was closing, he couldn’t breathe without you and that was what Mycroft had warned him about all his life.

\-------

You sunk lower into the bathtub letting the bubbles engulf your body. The water was barely warm and you were sure your body resembled a prune. You looked at the clock hanging on the wall, giving loud clicks as each second brought you closer and closer to the ball you had been dreading for a month. You began playing with the bubbles, making yourself a beard and a hat and laughed at your reflection from the low hanging mirror across from you. You loved bubble baths, especially using the scented bath salts. They brought you a sense of peace, you had taken one before finals every semester, before you took the MCAT, before you applied for the residency position and everything had turned out great. It was your secret good luck charm and it made your skin smell delicious. You looked at the dress you had picked out, it was hanging in the window directly across the room from your bathroom, you left the door open so you could remind yourself you needed to leave your bathroom tonight. Your dirty acrobats from the night before had left slight bruising around your wrists and very big scrapes and dark purple circles on your knees and your neck look like you had gotten into a fight with a very tiny vampire. You heard your phone ping and you grabbed it from the floor, leaning over the side of the bathtub, feeling the cool plaster against your chest.

“Get out of the tub- SH” your phone read.

You sighed and plunged yourself all the way under the bathwater, blowing bubbles from your nose for one last time. You flung your arms up as you emerged with a big smile on your face as if you were jumping out of a birthday cake. You grabbed a towel and dried your body before flipping your head upside down and wrapping it in your hair. You walked naked to your bedroom, pulling your top drawer of your dresser open and fumbling around trying to find a thong. You paused trying to remember the reflection in the mirror from when you tried it on, the deep v-neck exposed almost half your breasts from the side so a bra was definitely out, it was a royal purple that shimmered from your chest to your toes with a thin slit that went up your thigh on the right side. A lace patterned covered the rest of your body, wrapping over the exposed flesh on your chest up to your shoulders and all the way down your arms. It was a thick enough lace to cover the bruises on your wrists but the bruise on your knee was visible and you cursed under your breath, you had fallen in love with the way it looked on you that you forgot about your knees. 

Fuck it. 

Who were you trying to impress there? John already heard you, Sherlock gave it to you and your dad already thought you were a whore and you could care less if you helped him raise money tonight. You heard Sherlock’s violin play a slow, warm symphony and you began to dance around like you did the first time you heard his playing. You closed your eyes and pulled the towel off your hair, flinging it around and letting the drops spray everywhere. You grabbed a black lace thong and pulled it on, hopping from foot to foot trying to keep a rhythm going. You hadn’t danced like this in what felt like years and the night suddenly began to look up. You continued your little dance to the bathroom to work on your hair, blow-drying it so it wrapped around your right side. You pinned the left side down and began to curl the bottom, framing your face perfectly. 

You applied simple makeup, shaping your eyebrows perfectly and applying light, black shadow to smoke across your eyes. Your thick lashes didn’t need any help from clumpy mascara, just a few quick bends from your curler and your eyes were perfect. You blotted a deep red across your lips and made a kissy face in the mirror, hoping Sherlock would like what he saw. You put all your tools away and danced over to your dress, unzipping the back and stepping into it. The fabric felt like silk against your freshly shaved legs and you wiggled it up your body when the door opened. 

Sherlock licked his bottom lip and walked over to you, grabbing the zipper from your hands and zipping it all the way up. You turned to face him and a small gasp escaped your lips. He looked so perfect it would make angels envious. His perfectly dark suit gripped his muscles, his dark purple tie was nearly the exact color of your dress and it made your heart flip over itself. You grabbed the tie and smooth it out; you had never felt like this about anyone. You couldn’t seem to catch your breath around him, your hands always found a reason to touch him, your stomach always felt as if butterflies were battering around trying to escape and whenever you met his crystal eyes it just felt like home. You pulled him down by his tie into a warm kiss wrapping your arms around his neck to bring him closer. He smiled into your kiss, running his nimble fingers down your sides. You giggled when he pulled away, a small red stain from your lipstick rested on his bottom lip. He wiped his thumb on it while you turned to put your shoes on and grab your clutch. He wrapped his arm around your waist and led you out of the flat and into the starless night.

\------------------------

The hall was grand, you felt like a princess walking up to it. The streets were lined with limos, Mercedes, Maseratis and Jaguars, all carrying well-dressed couples with more money than they could ever hope to spend. Lights flashed from the sidelines, the paparazzi had been roped off and guarded by men wearing black suits and earpieces, it looked like a red carpet event for a feature film. The hall itself was a white brick building with huge greek columns holding up the third story balcony, the windows were nearly the size of the walls, arched at the top with gold drapes hiding the party inside. There was a deep pond the color of the night sky with white and gold flowers emitting a soft glowing light, floating among the lily pads. You exited with Sherlock, taking a deep breath before stepping forward into the crowd. You walked hand in hand down the stone path that made its way through the freshly cut grass and arched over the pond. 

The chatter of the party got louder as you approached. People were flocking to the large, red double doors guarded by four slick-suited men. Sherlock squeezed your hand lightly, you focused on the clicking of your heals on the stone to try and keep your heart rate steady. He began scanning the people, spotting Lestrade near the entrance and counted ten of the men he had picked out to help them. They made themselves scarce, blending in with the cookie-cutter men in their black suits and red ties. When you approached the door attendants they welcomed you with a surprised face which made you blush, feeling your palms begin to sweat you opted to look down at the marble floor beneath your feet. You weren’t sure if it was the man on your arm or if it was just your presence in general, but you had not felt so many eyes on you since the police station when the pictures made themselves available for the public to see. 

The sound of an orchestra belted their tune throughout the grand halls, round tables that sat twelve people woven in a delicate pattern at the very back near the stage, champagne colored table clothes hung themselves over the top, the dark wooden chairs had matching colored padding and giant glass vases filled with white and gold dyed roses displayed themselves in the center of the table. The floors where a sheen white with gold vine-like designs swirling their way around you, the columns inside were wrapped in gold string lights, illuminating the darkened hall. The high ceilings donned mirrors reflecting the passing of gossip from mouth to ear, older men grasping onto their ‘secret’ lovers while their wives chatted away. 

The chatter buzzed around you, your name and Sherlock’s falling quietly out of the mouths of passersby, your anxiety created a pounding in your head and your legs felt like they were heavy stone. A waiter in a tuxedo walked by with a silver platter that had wine glasses filled with light colored liquid and you quickly grabbed two. Sherlock held his hand out to take one but by the time he looked at your hands they were both empty. He rolled his eyes and grabbed the glasses, setting them on a table at his side.

“Nervous?” he asked. 

You shrugged and looked away, uncomfortable was more like it. You could feel the stares and whispers as you both made your way through the forest of tables searching for your name card.

“____” you heard your father yell.

It made your skin prickle up, his pitch sounded like nails on a chalkboard to you, and you hated how fake he could be. It was his fundraiser voice and it was much easier to ignore when you were high. Sherlock let go of your hand and straightened his jacket, he felt boiling rage coming forth and he decided now would be a good time to make his exit.

“I’ve got to speak to Mycroft about something.” he whispered into your ear. 

You turned to face him with a shocked expression but he had already disappeared into the crowd. He left you to face your father alone, you felt betrayed and anxious. Your father made his way towards you, weaving gently through the crowds of people, shaking hands and pointing your direction. You fumbled with the fabric of your dress as he approached with two older men and a woman whom was probably your age, if not younger. She looked too thin for her height, her nose pointed up at the tip and her black hair had been pulled back into a tight bun at the side of her head. Diamond earrings dangled as she walked towards you, her arm linked between a taller, larger man with a potbelly and snow white hair slicked back to create a box shape atop his head. You stifled a laugh and cleared your throat pulling your fakest face on you could muster.

“Daddy!” you smiled bringing him into an embrace and placing your chin on his shoulder. 

He smelled like twelve year reserve Jameson and cologne, you felt his cigar in his breast pocket and you wondered how a man could smoke like a chimney for years and still not have lung cancer.

“Darling” he said wrapping his arms around you.   
You wanted to throw up; there was only so much of this you could take sober. You scanned the room trying to find the open bar; it had been years since you had been to one of these but you knew none of the people in this room could stand each other sober.

“William, you remember ____. She’s a surgeon now, one of the best in London!” Your father said, his cheeks plumping up while he lied through his teeth. 

You smiled and let him grab your hand and kiss it, a little too wet for you taste and apparently his lady of the evening felt the same. You remembered William very clearly, his grandfather had designed watches and then his father took the tiny store and made it into a multi-billion dollar company. William took it a step further, taking its chains from the U.S. and marketing them around the world, he also was a big fan of tax evasion, offshore banking and trading in his girlfriends in once they reached the ripe age of 28. He was a fan of yours when you were a teenager, he always ‘accidently’ walked in on you while in the shower but he stopped once you ‘accidently’ burned his dick through his pants with your cigarette at a party your father was throwing. He was a big investor in your father’s campaign this year, apparently hiding money from the government brought friends closer. The stick on his arm coughed and he turned to her patting her hand and smiled his yellow-toothed smile.

“This is Lila, she’s an aspiring actress. Maybe you went to school with her, ____” William said raising his eyebrows at your father. 

The two exchanged the traditional perverted old man glance and you rolled your eyes and went back to sifting through the crowds trying to find your date that had abandoned you. You still could not believe this man, after the intimacies you shared the previous night and this morning, the way he kissed you, grabbed you, fucked you, how could he just slip away in one of your most uncomfortable times. You spotted John and excused yourself, grabbing the bottom of your dress and slipping through the crowd to his side. He had his finger on his ear, looking off into the distance like he was whispering to someone.

“Thank god you’re here! How did you get in?” You asked wrapping him into a hug. He hugged you back tightly and glanced around, spotting something off in the distance.

“Talk later?” he asked and turned quickly. 

He melted into the crowd, your limbs became tense and the dull ache that had been surrounding your heart turned into a sudden explosion of, threatening to burn the place down. You wiped your eyes, trying your best no to smear your makeup and you found your way to the open bar. You ordered three shots of tequila and took them all one right after the other, not even pausing to bite into a lime. Your stomach and throat burned and your eyes watered from the sudden feeling. 

You heard the tapping of a microphone and saw William standing up to speak, the orchestra paused and everyone began turned his or her attention toward the stage. The wall behind him had been draped in white sheets while light pink lights illuminated him along the stage, his shadow was two times the size of him, and he began speaking about your father and their long friendship. You ordered another shot and downed it, trying to put out the fire that had ignited your veins. You needed to feel fresh air, you felt like you were drowning, the air felt thick and warm and your dress was suddenly too tight around your chest. You turned frantically searching for a side exit, trying to walk as slow and stealthy between the crowds, ducking from wandering eyes until you saw a bright red exit sign down a darkened hall. Your heels clicked as William’s voice faded behind you, you reached your arm out for the door. A shadow came from the sides, one arm wrapped around your waist and the other brought down a heavy object onto the back of your head, you tried to scream but your voice was muffled by cloth, the warmth of your blood dripping down your neck was the last thing you felt as your eyes closed, filling the world around you with darkness.


	13. Point of View

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually half of the next chapter, I broke it in up because of the way I wanted this to play out and the format would have been very awkward. It will make sense once you read it and then read fourteen.

It all happened too fast, it was all planned out so precise. It was planned better than a heist, more thought out than a script, more precise than an open-heart surgery done by the greatest surgeon in the country, and it outsmarted him. It tricked him, made him see things that weren’t true, it shook his very soul to the core, the fear and trauma flooding in through his veins when the two bodies descended from the room and smashed together on the sidewalk creating a thick pool of blood and brain matter scattered along the lawn. Screams and cries were heard echoing in the quiet night, shattering through the air like razorblades cutting thin skin. His breath was heavy, his heart wrenched inside his chest and it wasn’t until John shouted his name that he put it all together, and he feared it was much too late.

\----------------------

The lights dimmed in the middle of William’s speech, guests giggled and yelled in fake fear while William pressed the microphone to his lips letting out a small chuckle.

“Sorry, sorry everyone we will get this fixed momentarily!” he said turning to the side of building. 

Sherlock tried to see through the pitch-black room, the few candles scattered around the tables illuminated diamonds, pearls and watches, the shuffling of bodies molded everyone together, and their faces were unrecognizable. His phone went off along with a few others, he looked around and saw John in the far back corner with Lestrade, both of them picking their phones from their pockets and clicking on the glowing screen. He grabbed his phone and clicked on the message, a picture popping up of your backside, a black hood over your head and hands tied behind your back, bleeding and rubbed raw from the rope. Another followed directly after, his hands shook as he opened the next message, a picture of an empty hallway with a gold vine pattern in a heart shape on the floor stared back at him; he could see tiny blood splatters that seemingly disappeared behind the bare wall. He looked to see if John and Lestrade were still in their corners, his heart felt like it would burst and he ran over the multiple things that could be happening to you. 

He felt like he couldn’t breathe, his brain felt fuzzy and clouded, he couldn’t think so he pushed his way through the crowd, knocking people over in the process and giving no mind to their curses behind him. He ran to John and tried to speak but no words came out, just stuttering of syllables and sharp breathes that felt like it broke his ribs every time he inhaled. His whole body began to feel numb and the room started spinning, he tried to keep his balance by leaning against the wall, his legs were melting into pools of useless ruble, Lestrade hooked both his arms under Sherlock’s trying to help him regain composure.

“I need you to calm down, just try and relax.” Lestrade whispered as his eyes darted around for any of the other men he employed. 

“Sherlock you’re having a panic attack, you need to breathe” John whispered harshly as he put his fingers at his pulse point on his neck. Sherlock was becoming drenched in sweat; his eyes darted around like a crazy person. He was trying to figure out where the hall would be but the mixture of dry air and erratic heart rate was making it a difficult task.

“There is no time, we are out of time” he replied pushing the men off him. 

He shook his head and tried to ignore his pulse, running through the layout of the hall in his mind. He saw the corridors, all hallways that lead nowhere had large paintings hanging on them, clearly Damien didn’t want anyone to linger by this particular wall. He placed his fingers on his temples and the noise of the people around him was making it hard for him to think. He saw a glimmer against the wall, the tiniest spot that seemed to glow brightly as if it were under a black light. He pushed through the crowd ignoring John’s protest, he stepped quickly as the shape in front of him came to form, it was a small arrow pointing towards the ceiling. His mind snapped back to attention, all cogs working full speed as he spun around and ran towards the front of the building. John and Lestrade were trying to make their way forward when a voice from the speakers boomed overhead. 

“We seem to be having a problem with the lights, how about everyone makes their way outside where there is light and refreshments, parties are no fun if you can’t see what you’re drinking!” came Williams voice. Suddenly the crowd began to herd themselves towards the line of French doors, swallowing John and Lestrade up in the process. They turned and began walking with the crowd, useless to fight against the current unless they wanted to get trampled by expensive suits and high-heeled heirs. 

Sherlock swung his body over the rope blocking the entrance to the staircase hidden on the side, it only went up one story but he could already see a small glowing shape in the distance. He ran up the steps two at a time, the velvet plush stroking the bottom of his shoes while his hand coasted the banister, trying to focus his eyes in the dark. He was greeted by pitch-black emptiness, the air was silent and the shuffling from below him began to dwindle down as the crowds made their way outside. He looked around him for the glowing paint, spotting it at all the way across the catwalk. He placed his hand on the railing, the small path was wide enough for two people, and if the lights were on he would be able to see the whole ball below.

He ran his fingers through his hair, pulling at it slightly to see if he could feel anything yet. The slight tug at his roots brought his attention back to his heart rate, it wasn’t racing but it wasn’t steady; he inhaled deeply and increased his speed towards the glowing smiley face taunting him a few feat ahead. He felt stiff and crowded in his jacket, as he turned the corner to the hallway he flung it off behind him, readjusting his white collared shirt and rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. He squinted, the hallway was empty, nothing on the walls, no tables or lamps just a square of vast emptiness. His shoe slid on the blood on the floor and he gripped his stomach willing it not to flip upside down. Another deep inhale and his hands were everywhere, closing his eyes he felt along the walls and floors, the creases and cracks between the floor and the baseboard, gliding his shaking fingers toward the corner that joined the two walls and the floor. 

A soft click rang in his ears as his finger sunk into the corner, bolts were turning and winding, willing the wall to crack open. He pushed it hastily, pressing his thin body through the tiny crack, not bothering to open it all the way. Overhead lamps dimly lighted the dusty stairwell in front of him, cobwebs stained his pants as he moved quickly up the stairs, eyes darting left and right trying to make sure he didn’t miss a thing. When he rounded the corner he eyed a dark piece of cloth hanging on a bent nail sticking out of the railing and deep, engraved lines scaled up the majority of the banister. As he passed, the image of your delicate fingers digging deep into the wood trying to escape found its way in front of his eyes, he heard muffled screams penetrate his brain, it sliced and tore his body apart, he had failed and it was not a feeling he was used to having. He bit his lip so hard blood spurted out, gripping onto the banister so hard he fear it would splinter under the pressure of his large hands. 

The stairs seemed to go on forever and as he neared the final steps he felt a gust of wind hit his face. He ran so fast he tripped and fell into the wall by the open door, smacking the side of his face onto the brick. He shook it off and readjusted his shirt before attempting to walk calmly onto the roof, the sound of screams lit up the silence around him. His foot slammed onto something squishy, like a small rodent or a thick bug and as he lifted his foot Damien turned around and smiled a twisted smile. He saw your body being held over the edge, limp and bloody, black bag still over your head. He stood, frozen, his mind was a blank slate and the only thing he could process was the amount of blood that covered your body. He noticed your hand was a deep red color, so limp and lifeless that it was two shades lighter than your natural tone, and that it was missing a finger. He felt his stomach lurch as he fell forward, hands on his knees as dry heaved while Damien laughed loudly. He didn’t need to move his feet to know what he had stepped on your severed finger. 

“The great Sherlock Holmes, brought to his knees by little old me” his voice crackled and sucked the air from Sherlock’s mouth. He gripped his knees and forced himself to stand up to face him, trying not to look at the blood that dripped from you. No words formed; not a single sarcastic comment or thought, all he wanted was for you to be safe and he had no idea how to make sure that would happen. It was his fault you were in the position, even if he rescued you, you would never operate again, with your livelihood gone he couldn’t fathom what dark path you would take. He gulped and stepped forward, light shouts echoed around him. 

“Ah ah ah, don’t get much closer, or little lady here will just be a stain on the sidewalk” he sang, letting his grip slip a little on your waist.

“Don’t..please” he stuttered. 

He was outwitted, he had lost and as anger stormed inside him threatening to blow he realized he was angry with you too. Angry for making him fall for you, angry at himself for allowing it, angry at Mycroft for being right about it all. He wiped the sweat from his brow as the shouts from the ground became clearer. People had realized what was going on and were crowding around below. He felt cold drops of liquid hitting his face; he looked up at the night sky as white little sprinkles fell down over him like a snow globe that had been shaken. It was beautiful, it was coming down thick creating an ever-growing blanket on the roof around him, the cold began to nip at his skin but he was already so numb it did nothing but bring him to the realization that he wasn’t able to do anything. 

“What do you want?” he asked. 

Damien cocked his head to the side, licking his lips before taking a step backwards onto the ledge. Your body dangled freely now, his was teetering back and forth, a strong wind could decide his fate.

“To distract you” he said before he grabbed the black bag from the head of the woman he held, Lila’s eyes were half-lidded and her black hair hung loosely around her face. 

Damien gave a salute and leaned backwards, sending them both spiraling down until the crack of their skulls hitting cement rang out. Sherlock’s mind felt like it cracked with theirs, nothing was coming to him, the world got fuzzy and he felt like he was floating. The only thing he could see was the snow falling around him, he heard nothing but a sharp ringing in his ears, he just looked on into the white specs dancing before his eyes. His body felt as if it was engulfed in strong binds, not able to move, his brain felt like a thick fog had surrounded it, his head throbbed, overloaded and stale. 

“SHERLOCK CAN YOU HEAR ME?!” He heard John’s voice but it sounded like it was a hundred miles away. 

The ringing in his ears lessened as John’s call broke through the barrier. He shivered and moved his heavy legs forward, trying to restart his brain in the process. It had been a trick, a distraction, and he had fallen for it. He peered over the ledge at the crowd below him; he could barely see the outline of the two bodies on the floor, dark swirls of blood mixed in with the fresh fallen snow. John was jumping and screaming frantically as a few men huddled around the bodies. He leaned over the ledge to where John was pointing at and something in him ignited, he could see nothing but your face clear as day pressed against the window, your fists were pounding on the glass, tears and blood streaming down your face and neck. He watched as a hand grabbed you by the throat and pulled you into the shadows, your faint screams shattering through the fog that had encompassed his mind. His body kicked into over drive as he spun on his heels, racing towards the door, and as he slipped back into the stairwell he realized he had no idea how to get to you.


	14. Escape

Your head was pounding, heat blazed from the back of your head and your hair felt sticky and stiff, the pulsating beat behind your ears was almost too much to endure. You tried to open your eyes, a crisp white light blinded you when your lids fully opened, your focus was off and you felt something cold and stiff between your lips. Your neck was sore and throbbing from being craned in awkward position, you felt your arms bound together in your lap but your legs were free. You closed your eyes again and rolled over to your side, the cold shock of the floor soothed your aching body. You had been kneeling over yourself with your legs tucked in, the fuzzy feeling shooting pins and needles up your legs as you tried to get circulation back. You needed to open your eyes, the vivid memory of an exit sign and a hand around your waist came rushing to you and you snapped your eyes open, instantly regretting the decision. You tried not to make a noise as your eyes adjusted, the room was reflecting light back at you from the lights hanging above you, you could make out mirrors and the white tile with gold patterns. You rolled completely on your back, blinking profusely to get your eyes adjusted as the throbbing in your head increased. You pulled yourself up and without the use of your hands and it caused your middle to feel like it was being squeezed to the point of exploding, you winced and held down a groan of agony. 

Everything came to focus all at once; you were in a rounded room completely surrounded by mirrors. Your reflection stared back at you, scared, injured, pale and alone. You could see from the corner of your eye that you had a gash on the back of your head, it didn’t seem too deep and the bleeding had stopped, your hair was crimson and so was your neck and the back of your dress. You heard a voice coming from downstairs, it sounded like William and he sounded joyful, nobody knew you were here. You wiggled your toes, willing your blood back down your legs, you had the opportunity to run and you needed to act fast. You winced as you rose to your feet, wobbling under the pressure of your head as you came to an upright position, you looked around you, you had no idea where the door was, there was just mirrors and light. You looked up to see if maybe you were in some sort of weird basement that had a pull down ladder, but all you saw was the bright glow of the crystal chandelier hanging above you. It dangled with its dozen long arms, crystals swopping and connecting to each other and you felt a hand appear on your shoulder. 

You tried to scream but the fabric in your mouth hindered that and you looked at the mirror in front of you to see your father’s smiling face behind you. Your eyes widened as you spun around, staggering backwards and falling back over, hitting the floor with a loud bang. You looked at him, his dark brown eyes looked dead and menacing, his cigar unlit hanging from his thick bottom lip, his hair was perfectly slicked back and straight, his suit matched in color and stature. He smiled, his dentist perfected teeth shone back at you, nearly clear from all the bleaching. He began to walk to the side, keeping his head turned towards you as he lit his cigar and flung the lighter, it slid across the tile and wedged itself under the one of the mirrors. You waited for him to speak; curling your legs around your left side remembering you had your butterfly knife strapped to your thigh. He puffed thick, grey clouds of smoke in the air, his eyes closed as he inhaled the smell of it, smiling and humming for a moment.

“You have been a useless, waste of a life.” He said while sucking on his cigar, the tip lighting up a bright orange and billowing smoke towards you.

“You could have used your brilliance for so many things, and you decided to go into medicine, the vast field that makes people feel important because they can cut people up and call it a miracle when they survive. Death is inevitable and if people are not using what they are given to their full potential then they should die. Half the people you have helped saved were supposed to die, but you doctors intervene and disturb the line of death like you’re some sort of god” he boomed. 

His voice bounced off the wall and he stopped pacing, turning to look at you before flicking the butt of his cigar at you. It landed near your legs; you watched it roll towards you, inches away from singing your knee. You blinked back tears and tried to figure out how to get him to look away from you to get your knife. 

“If you had not wasted so many years partying and snorting your life away, I could have made you into a great, powerful woman. Doctors have fake power, they are nothing compared to me” he was screaming now, his eyes looked like they would burst from his skull, his skin was red and beginning to glisten under the heat of the chandelier. 

“At least when you die you’ll do something useful for once. The headlines will be seen everywhere, ‘Daughter of Demetrio ____ died of an overdose at the benefit ball, though he is overwhelmed with grief he will continue his campaign’ then I will make tearful speeches about winning in your honor. Everyone loves a dramatic story.” he snorted as he smoked. He rubbed his hand over his suit and straightened his tie before walking towards you. He stuck one finger under your chin and tilted it upwards, bending his body forward to look you dead in the eye.

“I never wanted you, my marriage to your mother was to benefit each other’s careers, and then you came. She turned into a sloppy, lovesick, simple-minded bitch like every other child-baring woman on this planet. You ruined everything, I thought you’d eventually kill yourself but this works out much better now.” He hissed, brushing his finger up your cheek and into your hair.

You felt his fingernail dig into the gash on your head and you screamed, biting at the cloth between your teeth as his nail danced around the wound causing it to burn and throb. You heard a knocking at the door before one of the mirrors opened, William’s shadow filled up the space between the hall and the room. He waddled in, sucking down a glass of whisky and tossing the glass towards you. It shattered on the floor spilling shards everywhere, the scent of alcohol whirled up into your nose. A thick shard of glass had slid its way near your feet; it was jagged around the edges and came to a fine point. Demetrio turned towards his friend, raising his arms to embrace him. 

This was your chance; you had a very small window if you wanted to live. You swung your upper body around quickly, grabbing the shard and hastily rubbing it against the thin rope your hands were tied with. Out of all the things your father was, he was not good at tying knots of any sort, once the knot that bound your hands to each other came loose you rubbed your wrists together to loosen it as you heard two pairs of footsteps walking towards you. You hid the glass in your palm, feeling the edges dig into your hands as you managed to pull your free hand from the tangle of ropes. You felt your skin tearing at the burn from the friction and two strong hands wrapped over your shoulders, squeezing hard enough to bruise. William’s thick legs appeared near you and you saw his hands come for yours, you allowed him to grab your free hand as he yanked your body up, pulling your chest to his. He smelled of aftershave and cheap whisky, his cheeks were puffy and red from the booze, his eyebrows reminded you of a wizards and he really need a mint. His breathe was hot against your cheek and you glanced down at his neck, searching for the carotid artery but your hands were too far away to reach it. Shit. 

“Now now naughty girl..” he whistled bringing his face closer to yours. 

You said a quick prayer in your head to whoever may be listening before pushing the glass shard up into your fingers and puncturing his neck and pressing deeply. His screaming increased as you plunged the glass deeper and deeper, blood squirting like a geyser erupting, coating your fingers with his blood. He dropped you and you fell to your back, rolling over to the side as your other hand came free from the ropes. Demetrio stared in horror as his friend fell to his knees, face turning white and eyes rolling in the back of his head. You reached under your dress and pulled your knife out before jumping up and running towards the open door. You felt your hair being pulled and you screamed loudly as the wound on your head began to throb harder. You turned yourself around and jabbed the knife into Demetrio’s side, causing him to wheeze and release his grip. You staggered back, slipping on the blood that was now flowing freely from William’s corpse. 

You fell backwards into a mirror and felt a sharp pain in your shoulder as the now cracked edge dug into your skin. You watched as the thin, stone-faced man in front of you gripped his side, your eyes met and you froze. He kept your stare as he yanked the knife out of his side and threw it to the ground, laughing as he raised his hand and looked at the blood on his palm. You pushed off the mirror and felt the glass release from your skin, the feeling of warm blood cascading down your shoulder seemed to unfreeze your feet. You tried for the door again and the sound of uneven footsteps followed. 

You bolted out of the door, taking a sharp right into a dimly lit hallway. You could tell you were on the opposite side of the grand hall, the moon was illuminating the far windows and the chatter from the outside filtered in. You ran as fast as you could, picking up the hem of your dress so you wouldn’t trip over it, you looked back and saw nothing but emptiness. You were beginning to feel queasy from the blood loss; your adrenaline was probably the only thing keeping you upright. The windows began growing in size signaling you were almost near the end. You looked around you as you ran, nothing but paintings hung on the walls, watching you run for your life, the soft sound of your heels clicking on the tile boomed under the silence. You saw the stairs finally and you slowed your run, your lungs felt like they were on fire, threatening to implode at any minute. You spun in a circle trying to find any sign of Demetrio, one more breath and you would run for the stairs. It was on breath too many.  
You yelped as he jumped from the shadows, placing his body in between you and the stairs.

“Did you really think you would outsmart me? So many secret passages in these old buildings, one could get lost for days behind these walls,” he said chuckling. You began to whimper, you wanted to cry but you were empty, dehydrated and probably going to die a slow death from blood loss. You tried to get enraged, to be brave, but all you could think about was Sherlock. He had left you, and now you were here, he hadn’t tried to find you and that felt worse than all the wounds in the world.

“Guess you were just a little experiment to that detective. He hasn’t tried to find you, I’m pretty sure I saw his friend outside enjoying the party” he said clicking his tongue. 

The party, you had forgotten you weren’t the only people here. You needed to get someone’s attention outside, you looked around you for something to break the window, but it was void of any furniture or decorations, and you cursed yourself for not grabbing a vase or something heavy to use. Your gut wrenched as an idea quickly formed in your head, deciding that you would not go down without a fight. You took a few steps backwards, keeping your eyes locked on the crazed man before you and then you ran forward and lunged at him. You wrapped your thin fingers around his neck, and just as you suspected he instantly grabbed your wrists to pry them apart. That’s when you took the opportunity to bring your right leg up and dig your heels into the hole in his side. His voice rang through the halls, as did screams from the outside. You dug your heel deeper before yanking it out, leaving him doubled over and groaning in pain. You couldn’t risk running past him towards the stairs, he could too easily fling you right over the ledge. Instead you ran towards the window, banging on it and screaming. Suddenly you saw a shimmer coming from above followed by two bodies falling from a few feet above you. The crowd screamed in horror, you were too far away to see who it was and your heart dipped into your belly, praying it was nobody you loved. 

You screamed louder, spotting John and Lestrade in the crowd below you, circling the two bodies that lay smashed into the cement. John turned his head in your direction and you were unsure if he heard you or your prayers were heard, but you locked eyes and his face turned to horror. He shoved Lestrade and pointed before screaming onto the roof and waving his hands. You faintly heard him yell Sherlock’s name and from your peripheral vision you saw your father staggering up, holding onto the railing for support. You looked up to where John was looking and saw Sherlock peering towards you from the roof; you finally felt tears brimming your eyes, your vision tunneling so all you saw was him. His shirt was white and he looked paler than a ghost, he had fear and sadness in his eyes, he looked lost. You put your hand on the window as your tears crashed into the carpet and you felt the sudden realization that this was the last time you’d ever see him.

“I love you” you whispered as hand wrapped around your mouth and dragged you back away from the window. 

A shot rang out, creating a loud, penetrating ring in your right ear. You fell to the ground expecting to feel pain, but you felt nothing, just the soft carpet on your side. You heard a body fall backwards, you felt shoes touching the tip of your head but you couldn’t figure out what had happened. You felt tiny droplets of snow hit your feet and you raised your eyes, the window had been shattered, the moon illuminated your bloodstained shoes and dress. You weren’t sure if you had gone deaf or if you were just dying, but you felt at peace. Suddenly you felt strong arms pick you up bridal style while men in suits and uniforms made their way around you, everything was blurry and smudged together, voices echoed softly but from the frantic tones you assumed they were shouting. The ringing was stagnate and causing your head to pound in unison, your eyelids felt like they weighed ten pounds each and you had no more strength to keep them open, giving up and letting the ringing lull you to a soundless sleep.


	15. Fire

You watched the ball soar up towards the ceiling giving it a red accent against its plain white paint; your eyes followed it as it fell back down nearly hitting your face before you snatched it up with your left hand. It had been three days since your dad tried to kill you, three days since you had killed a man with your bare hands, two days since you last talked to Sherlock, John or Lestrade and one day since you had been released from the hospital and told you needed to take two weeks off for everything to heal. It didn’t bother you that you had six staples in your head and they had to shave part of your hair for it, it didn’t bother you that you’ll have a permanent scar on your shoulder from the mirror and it didn’t bother you that your hands had cuts and burns from the rope that made you look like you picked a fight with Edward scissor hands. No, what bothered you was the fact you had killed someone, regardless of it being to save your own life, someone had died because of you. You were left with that image burned permanently into your brain, because Sherlock had left you, because John and Lestrade didn’t watch you carefully enough and because you trusted them all far too easily. 

So up and down the ball went, your back had made an indent in your couch from being in the same position for so long, the only light came from the desk lamp as you had put thick black curtains over your windows so the flash of cameras would stop. You had pushed the desk against the front door, sealing yourself in with your own thoughts. You ignored the constant pleas from Mrs. Hudson offering you condolences, the threatening shouts from John about breaking in through the windows, and the sound of the violin from atop the stairs. Your body felt vacant, your mind felt like it was splitting itself open and everything was falling out, your thoughts were jumbled into meaningless drabble and syllables molded together. The only thing you could bring yourself to do was practice with your stress ball, working out your hands and fingers to help the muscles heal correctly from their damage. 

You heard a vibration and turned your head to the glass coffee table at your side, your phone had been lighting up for hours. Mycroft had called you about a dozen times, people from the hospital who were more interested in what happened than your state blew up your text inbox, emails from journalists and TV reporters wanting the inside scoop crashed your inbox twice. You tried to make it explode with your mind, huffing at the site of the screen lighting up once more as it moved slightly towards you. You swung your legs around and grabbed the device, trying to read the small white letters but they appeared jumbled and backwards. With one hard motion your phone flung into the wall and smashed into it, pieces flying everywhere. You felt your lips turn upward into a smile, it felt foreign and you missed the feeling that accompanied it. You missed any feeling really, this hollow shell you had become was not a person you ever wanted to know but you had no idea how to get back to solid ground. 

The sound of the violin faintly made its way through the door, it tugged at your heartstrings, your legs felt like they wanted to move, they begged you to use them to dance freely but your mind had descended too far below the surface to allow any sort of movement. You pulled your knees into your chest, placing your nose a top the crescent shelf they created and squeezed your eyes shut.

“Come back come back come back,” you whispered trying to will any sort of feeling back into your cavernous soul. You heard a sharp knock on the door, then the rustling of paper and footsteps ascending back up the steps and out the door. You blinked and turned toward the barricaded door, noticing a blank envelope wedged between it and the floor. You placed your feet on the floor and made your way towards the envelope, dropping to your knees to crawl under your desk and grab it. You used your nail to open the envelope, sitting back on your heels to read the small print. It had an official US seal on the corner and you didn’t recognize the address but it looked important. Your back stiffened as you read the first line, it was from your family lawyer. Your eyes strained and words began to form as you read the letter to yourself in a hushed whisper, your hands began to shake as the reality sunk in. You had inherited everything; all of the money, the loft in New York, the mansion on the outskirts of London, the multiple cars and stocks, it was all yours. 

You sat under the desk, bewildered and suddenly you felt suffocated. You rolled out from under the sheen metal and grabbed the edges, pulling it away from the door so you could escape. You were only clad in you Stanford sweatpants and a white long sleeve shirt, you weren’t sure what the weather was like or even what time it was. You quickly grabbed your sneakers, lacing them up with one hand while searching the counter for Cassidy’s scarf. Your fingers felt the soft, knit fabric and you yanked it off the counter and flung the door open, bounding up the stairs and to the front door. It was a perfect winter evening, cold air filled your lungs as you stepped out into the freshly fallen snow glistening in the fading sun, you felt the cold around your ankles and your pants were getting soaked but nothing mattered, nothing but the wind in your hair and the crunch under your feet as you ran, leaving deep footprints behind. 

\------------------------------

You don’t know how far you ran or what direction you were going, you just needed to go. You whispered ‘I’m sorrys’ to multiple people; the sidewalks were crowded with holiday shoppers and cheerful families. You hated their happiness, hated how their lives were so uncomplicated and blasé and yours was just a mind-fuck melded into a pot of dramatic scenarios only TV writers could come up with on a weeklong bender. The cold had frozen your fingers and your could feel a virus making its way into your muscles, you wrapped the scarf around your neck once more to create a barrier between the bottom of half of your face and the winter chill. You made a hard left and stepped into the road, ignoring the shouts from cab drivers and honking of horns, it just made you run faster and harder. 

By the time you stopped the darkness had completely taken over the sky, the half moon shone high above you, lighting up the abandon park around you. Your legs were numb, muscles cramping from dehydration and sudden intense use, your lungs felt like icicles were inhabiting them, every time you took a breath you felt a their stabbing pain, it felt strangely relieving. You moved your feet up and down and looked around you, you had never seen this park before, it was quite small, just a few iron benches scattered under dead trees and a small frozen pond in the middle. It was quiet, the bustle of the street was far behind you, and the streetlamps flickered on around the pond, illuminating the thick ice. 

You heard snow crunching under thick boots, and normally you would have some sort of reaction, but instead you just stood silently, unaltered by the mystery walker. Your fight or flight instinct seemed to have disintegrated too, that would probably not bode well for you later, if it was something to remain permanent. A warm jacket was draped over your shoulders, you smelled whisky and rosin, the type you put on the bow of a violin and the jacket smelled of cigarettes. You wished you felt relief, anger, happiness, anything would do, but you were still just as hollow and shrunken as you had been for days. You both stood there facing the frozen pond, nothing but the faint sound of snow falling around you, tickling your nose and cheeks with its soft kiss.

“What would you like for Christmas?” he asked breaking the silence. You pivoted to face him, your eyes giving him a look mixed with confusion, hilarity and absolute disgust. 

“How..what..You left me to die and THAT is the first question you ask me?” you said quietly. You couldn’t believe you had just spoken, your voice sounded mousy and faint.

You had lost your edge, the mojo that made you courageous and fearless, that strength had dissipated and you were frightened it wouldn’t return.

“___ I’m sorry.. I didn’t leave you I swear. That’s not-“ he paused, blinking a few times and ruffling his hair with his hands. He looked strained and unsure; he was also not himself lately.

“Nothing you say will change anything,” you said turning your eyes downward to the snow. 

You turned around and made your way to the pond’s edge, staring back at your reflection in the ice. You knew how the creatures of the pond felt, being frozen over and forgotten; left to die underneath what was once their home and comfort. You placed your foot on the ice, testing its thickness before decided to make your way onto it. The rubber soles of your shoes didn’t provide much slip resistance and you waved your arms trying to balance. You felt Sherlock grab your arm to save you from falling backwards but the force of your fall was too great and you both fell back into the snow. Your head landed on his shoulder and you winced, the staples were still fresh and red. He nuzzled his nose on the top of your head, inhaling the scent of your hair that he missed so much, ignoring the cold sensation to his back from the snow invading his jacket.

You felt nothing but his warmth, heard nothing but his breathing and your heartbeats synchronized creating a rhythmic tune. You watched your breath shoot up like smoke from your mouth, your arms sprawled freely by your sides, snow made its way between your already freezing fingers stinging your skin. The snow had stopped falling, leaving the night breathtakingly dark and empty, the lights from buildings surrounding you flickered bright colors, Christmas music was playing from somewhere behind you.

“I inherited everything,” you whispered. You felt his arms fall to his sides to push himself up, sitting you up straight in the process. You wiggled down so you sat between his now crossed legs, his arms finding their way around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. 

“I know” he exhaled. He was so close you felt his eyelashes give your cheeks feather light kisses, and you turned your face away from him. 

“Look at me” his voice was forceful, his chest vibrating against your back. 

You didn’t want to; you couldn’t, not now and maybe not ever. Your heart was as cold and frozen as the rest of all of London; if it weren’t for the fact that you were alive right now you would have thought it stopped beating. You rose to your feet, brushing the snow off your now soaked ass and shrugging his coat off your shoulders and letting it drop on into the snow. You heard him get up from behind you, the snow crunched under his weight, you heard him bend over and pick up the jacket but you still refused to turn. 

He stood a few feet behind you, staring at your thinned out figure. You looked like you had barely eaten, your body shook with every gust of wind, he could see the small peach fuzz of hair growing back from the staples, the wetness of your hair made it apparent and his stomach felt mangled and torn when he looked at it. Your shoulder blades poked through your shirt, the scar peaking up over the fallen neckline and another blow to his gut rendered him speechless. He couldn’t place where this tidal wave of sickness was coming from, how his heart felt like it was being shredded by a hot knife whenever images of the scene he came upon found their way into his dreams. He had ran up those stairs to save you, only to be greeted by the sight of you bloody and pale, your lips were cracked and dry, your hair was soaked in your own blood. His knees gave out on him, his anxiety went through the roof and all he was able to do was watch as Lestrade carried you out to the ambulance and then everything went black. When he awoke the next morning he was in bed with a note from John saying he went to visit you at the hospital, he had tried to go see you but he couldn’t bring himself to leave the flat. 

“I made a miscalculation, I will forever regret that. Please, ____ Look at me” he was pleading now, something he had never done before in his life. He longed to see your eyes, your smile, the warmth of your arms around him in his bed, the way your skin felt against his.

You wanted to say something, you needed too but nothing came out. So you bent over and scooped some snow into your hands, the cold burned your hands to the touch but you were determined and hastily packing it into a ball. You turned and chucked the snowball at him, and you heard him gasp with surprised as it nailed him directly in the face. He stood there, mouth agape as the snow fell off his face, leaving a cold imprint in his skin. You quickly regretted your decision to turn his way, your gaze met his, the grey-blue swirls of his eyes twinkled with mischief and relief. Something snapped in you, your brain defrosted just a little, it was just enough to send you flying towards him in a tackling leap, throwing him down back into the snow. You sat on his stomach, watching him, your lips were parted and the cold bit into your cheeks. You laid your upper body down, putting your head on his chest feeling his heartbeat. It made your stomach tingle, little fires lighting up in your body, they were the tiniest sparks but you felt it, but just as quickly as they had arrived they fizzled out leaving you vacant again. 

“I can’t feel anything” you said. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you closer to him before sitting himself up again, this time you stayed on his lap facing him, your noses touched and you felt his lips move towards you. You moved your head to the side so they landed on your cheek and you felt the disappointment in his breath. 

“I know. I think I can help, if you’ll let me.” He said putting his finger under your chin and pulling your eyes back to his.

You saw the sadness floating around them, the bags under his eyes indicating he wasn’t sleeping well either. His curly hair was wet and sparkling from the snow, his teeth chattered and you weren’t entirely sure how you hadn’t died from hyperthermia yet. You nodded and pulled yourself up from his lap, he rose and again placed the coat over your shoulders and led you back towards the flat. You walked in silence, his arm wrapped around your waist pulling you in, it felt natural to be molded to closely to him. The streetlights illuminated his face, he was lost in thought but he always seemed to know when you were looking at him, his face turned down to you but his eyes always made their way to your lips. You knew what he wanted and for some reason it gave you a small glimmer of hope, but you still felt you were on a ledge, to your back was a dark, treacherous sea begging to swallow you up and offering you peace. On the other side was light and a winding dirt path leading to a thick forest, you could see two figures near the start of the thick brush, offering you their hand and guidance. You knew which way you wanted to go, but something about the easiness of the sea kept you on the edge, the easy path was calling your name.

\-------------------

You two rode in the cab silently. It was early morning and you were bundled up tightly, a white knit hat covered your head, your fingers had on the matching gloves and fitted jeans and knee-high boots hugged your legs. You looked at the scenery passing you by in the window, you were heading out of London, large buildings soon shrunk down to tiny houses scattered along the rolling hillside. The bustle of the city soon left the road open, very few cars driving out this early on a Friday. Sherlock sat next to you, eyes never leaving his side of the window but his hand rested on your knee, rubbing it every couple of minutes to let you know he was here if you needed him. You had decided to let him take you wherever he felt you needed to go, he told you to pack for the weekend and that made you quirk an eyebrow. Sherlock was not one for weekend getaways, part of you wanted to probe him for his plan while the other didn’t really care too much. It felt nice to get away from the city, and you had left early enough that the reporters that had been camping out on your steps weren’t there yet. 

The further you got from the city, the more your brain felt like it was defrosting. Bits and pieces were lighting up again, their functions seemed rusty and unused but soon small flickers of feeling were making their way back. The warming sensation started from your neck and sprawled down your arms and into your chest, your heart didn’t feel as caged but it was not ready to beat steadily and freely again. You felt Sherlock’s hand making its way up to your thigh, you felt your stomach tighten and a tingle between your legs and you smacked his hand away. You looked at him with a frown and his lips turned into a crooked smile, his eyes danced around your face and down to your lips as he pulled his hand away.

“Just testing the waters” he said smoothly. 

You rolled your eyes and flipped him off before turning your body to face the door. You heard him chuckle and you stirred in your seat, that man had the audacity to almost get you killed then try and get in your pants immediately after. You weren’t even ready to kiss him what made him think you were ready to ever let him touch you like that again? You had barely agreed to this and it was probably the painkillers you were on that made you say yes in the first place. You grinded your teeth together before the realization hit you, you felt angry. Not enough to burn down a village, just enough of a tiny spark to make you irritated and you couldn’t help but feel your lips turn upwards into a faint smile. You looked up at your reflection in the window to see Sherlock had been staring at you the whole time, watching your face contort at his actions. That bastard was trying to bring you back to life, you felt a hard thump in your chest, your heart was trying to regain consciousness and fill you with life again. 

The cab halting brought you back to reality, you looked up and your jaw dropped. A mini mansion stared back at you, the iron gates were pulled together by a thick-chained lock, the white brick fencing coasted its way down and around the large house. The lawn was overgrown and the flowers in front had shriveled under the cold. You pushed the door open and stepped out, you felt the hard brick path under your boots, it hadn’t snowed as much here, only a light blanket covered the area. Sherlock made his way to your side and gripped your hand in his. You tried to yank your hand back but he held onto it and turned his head down to face you.

“What do you want to do?” he asked you. You looked at him confused, you wanted to punch him in the throat but you were pretty sure he wasn’t asking what you wanted to do about his grip.

“W-What?” you stuttered. The air was dry around you, the dead trees that laced path towards the gate looked hauntingly at you, a few birds flew overhead making their presence known with their loud chirps. 

“It’s yours now. What do you want to do” he asked again eyeing the house. An answer came flying out before you even had a chance to think. 

“Burn it to the ground.”


	16. Release

You could feel the cold through your thick gloves as you wrapped your fingers around the iron bars keeping you outside of the large house. You felt a lump in your throat as you looked directly at the red double doors, the large rectangular windows reflected the peaking sun, and thick red drapes hid the contents of the mansion from the outside world. Dead leaves scattered themselves on the overgrown grass, piles of melting snow hid a stack of old newspapers that lay drenched and untouched. You had warm memories of this house and you had done your best to block them from returning, you remembered the inside was decorated in a romantic theme, you remembered the smell of roses and French toast always melding with the scent of Christmas pines. Your mother had never brought the staff with you when you came, Christmas was family time and she would always cook every meal. A gust of wind blew by and the squeaking of rusted metal caught your attention, to the left of the door was an old bench swing that looked like it was on its deathbed. The vivid memory of your last Christmas here played out in your head, your mother was making a ham for dinner and it was just light enough outside to see the snow begin to fall. 

You were six, your hair was hidden underneath a purple knit had that covered your ears, your boots were a charcoal grey and your legs were covered in white tights, you donned a French lace dress the color of a polished emerald. It was uncomfortable and itchy from the petticoat you were forced to wear with it and you had ran outside to see the snow, the echoing of holiday cheer made you feel safe on the patio alone. You climbed up on the swing and tried to push it but it didn’t budge and you let out a huff, standing up on the creaky wood boards to inspect the metal that held it up. Your boot slipped on the wet snow and you fell backwards giving out a yell before strong hands caught you and hugged you from behind. 

“Careful little one”

“The snow made me fall!” you giggled. 

The brush of your father’s mustache tickled your ear as he smiled against your skin, giving you a quick peck on the cheek before sitting you down on the bench. He ran his fingers up the black hinge, pulled a pin out, and turned to sit next to you. He used his feet to swing the bench back and forth, the melodic Christmas music drumming in your ears matched the swishing of the swing. You smiled and jumped onto his lap, turning to face the falling snow as he wrapped his arm around your middle. 

“I love you Daddy” you said gleefully. He chuckled and pressed his lips to your head in adoration.

 

The memory faded away as tears began making their way down your cheeks freely, you gripped onto the bars and shook the fence with all your strength. The large lock clanked against the chains, you felt the wind ripped through your coat and seemed to freeze you down to your bones. You had no idea what happened, it was like after your mother died a switch flipped and he couldn’t stand to look at you. He hated you so much he just wanted you dead, and that was something that had never bothered you until now. The more time you spent in this country the more your life seemed to unwind, it felt like it was a puzzle and you had been holding onto the same piece for years unaware that it was a part of something greater. 

“How are we going to get in?” you asked. 

You heard Sherlock wrestling in his pocket then his footsteps coming closer, he placed his hand on your cheek but you refused to change your position. He grabbed the lock with his pale hand and pressed a long metal rod into the keyhole, jiggling it gently. It took only a few moments for the lock to unhinge from itself, he pulled it down, unwrapped the chain from in-between the bars, and pushed the gate open. It creaked and moaned under the friction as you made your way through the opening with Sherlock directly behind you. The once luscious apple tree on the right of the house stood barren and cold, the thick trunk rose up to the grey sky, splintering off into thin gnarled branches shooting every direction, tiny birds with a thick feathers stood on the top branches, heads ducked into their breast to keep the chill at bay. You made your way up the stone steps and to the double doors, the knob that once shone brightly looked weathered and you turned to look at Sherlock.

His eyes matched the color the sky and your mood, his coat collar was flipped up and his scarf wound tightly around his neck, he reached out to touch your cheek again and sighed. You leaned into his hand, closing your eyes at the feeling of his palm brushing your cold skin making tiny fireworks light up under your pores. Out of nowhere William’s face appeared in your mind, his eyes were white and his neck was craned unnaturally, blood spilling out from the end. Your eyes snapped open and you moved from Sherlock’s grasp, pulling your body aside to allow him to pick the lock of the door. His face fell as he realized what had just happened; his chest felt congested and his hands tingled as he made his way forward to the door. Again it took very little effort for him to break in; though this time he entered before you. The windows at the back of the house had the drapes drawn open allowing light to filter in and create rectangles on the dark wood floor. The door opened directly to the large stairs, you peered up them unable to see much in the darkness. You slipped your shoes off without thinking about it, letting your toes wiggled on the floor and felt along the wall for the light switch.

You decided to avoid the stairs and walk into the large sitting room to the left of the door, the stone fireplace had black ashes scattered around the bottom. Logs stacked upon each other on the brass stand peaked out from the corner, the matching poker with its black end laid atop the mantle. You ran your fingers along the white couch arm and down to the maroon and brown silk pillows. There was a cream-colored blanket folded neatly on the edge of the couch, you had spent many hours underneath it reading stories and playing with your dolls while the warmth of the fireplace flickered behind you. You turned away from it and walked along the large stairs that wound their way up the wall; most of the pictures that used to hang on the walls had been taken down and replaced with various landscape paintings. You ran your hand along the banister of the stair until you could no longer reach it, this time of year it would have been draped with greenery and pinecones, the house would be covered in red and white candles, the scent of gingerbread cookies would fill the kitchen. You stiffened as you reached the thin wooden table that hugged the wall; three familiar pictures with smiling faces looked back at you. You picked the largest one up and dusted the glass off with the sleeve of your jacket, your mother stared back at you with plumped up cheeks and pearl white teeth, her red lips curved up into a huge smile. You were about four, standing on a stool in the kitchen next to her in an oversized apron and your face was covered in white flour. You were smiling and had a wooden spoon in hand pointing towards whoever held the camera. 

Your heart beat once more, harder this time like someone was pounding on a large drum, the feeling ate away at your core and a little more of you lost the numbness, but it was replaced with something more painful. Your shoulders felt like someone had them in an iron grip, your bones felt like they were about to crack and your knees threatened to buckle under your weight. You inhaled sharply and placed the picture down, ignoring the nagging feeling to take it with you. You inhaled deeply through your nose and pursued your lips to avoid the sobs begging to come out from your throat. You walked forward through the arched hallway and flicked the lights on in the kitchen. The white countertop reminded you of the snow outside, it matched well with the cherry wood cabinets as if this house had been made to stay in Christmas time forever. The induction stove sat unused as did the double oven, everything looked like it had been freshly cleaned and polished. You padded over the cold tile to peer into the oven like you used to as a child, it was dark and empty, begging to be used to make cookies or delicious honey ham. You don’t know what came over you but you found yourself in front of the fridge pulling out eggs and milk, your muscle memory led you to the cabinets that housed the rest of the ingredients along with a baking sheet and foil. As you reached for the mixer your foot fell on something cold, looking down you were standing on see through glass with cascading stairs swirling down, the walls housed more bottles of wine than you had ever imagined. You kneeled down and pulled the door open, the frigid air hit your face and the smell of old corks invaded your nose.

“That’s new” you said with a smile as you reached down and grabbed the bottle nearest to you.

\-------------------

“This house is ridiculous” Sherlock mumbled to himself. 

It had looked so simple from the outside but in reality it was a maze of rooms, one no more helpful than the last. He needed to find the master bedroom, crack the safe and find your real birth certificate, if you actually had one. He figured there was a fifty-fifty chance that you had one and regardless of the outcome he had nearly everything figured out. However, he didn’t feel you were ready to hear anything yet. He hadn’t even told you how your father had ordered Harper to be killed or the fact that nobody had any idea who had saved you. No traces of a sniper had been found and nobody on their end had fired the shot, Sherlock had a few theories brewing but there were a few more pieces of the puzzle that he needed to put together. His shoes squeaked on the floor leaving a trail of wet footprints as he went room to room, so far he had found a library with nothing of interest other than an existential amount of porn hidden between books on the shelves, two guest rooms and a small office. There were two doors left, each side by side and exactly identical. He huffed and chose the door on his right, trying to open it as quiet as possible. 

He felt uncomfortable leaving you down there alone, but he needed to find the papers without you tagging along. His fingers pressed the switch on the wall and the fan in the center of the room began spinning, wall lights that imitated candles flickered on revealing the room and he froze. The carpet was a very light pink, just the faintest hint of color and the walls were decorated in brick pattern paint making it look as if the room was enclosed in a castle.

The wall furthest from him had a large bed pointing at him, white lace tapered from ceiling to enclose the sides. Large pink and white pillows lay in a geometric pattern against the white headboard; gold swirls decorated the top and danced around the pink lettering that spelled your name out. His bottom lip quivered at the feeling this gave him, the ghost of your childhood was staring at him, and the innocence that clearly used to surround you was long gone. He felt a lump in his throat as he gazed around the room, a large window faced outwards towards the road with a perfect little bench that sat underneath it, dug into the wood to make it a perfect reading nook. It had the same pillows as the bed, though a few dolls were propped up against them. A tiny white table stood in the center of the room, the pink and purple chairs matched perfectly with its elegance while adding a sense of sweetness to the stiff design. Sherlock walked over to the table and kneeled, staring at the porcelain teakettle that sat in the center. It had a fat bottom with red roses winding around it, he ran his fingertip around the rim and over the spout; dust particles flew off at his touch and swirled in the sunlight. 

He felt ill as he made his way out of the room and closed the door; his stomach was in knots as visions of that night came back to him. He had never really thought about what your childhood was like, he only knew pain that had rocked your being, but he had never considered the fact that your story didn’t start out dark, that it made its way from fairytale to horror story, twisting and winding its way downward. He took a moment to catch his breath, straightening his posture and pushing the second door open with his palm. He could tell it was the room he was looking for, a large king sized sleigh bed greeted him, the two bedside tables matched the cherry wood coloring that seemed to decorate the whole house, each holding two identical white lamps. Near the door was a large vanity with a polished mirror reflecting the closet door on the opposite side. His eyes roamed the room, white footprints appearing where the carpet was sunken in more so than the rest, they trailed up to the closet as the gears in his mind began speeding up. A few more details and he was already pulling the false carpeting up on the floor of the closet, mismatched shoes were strewn about behind him, a few pairs of slacks hung perfectly folded on wire hangers, swinging back and forth from being pried so he could kneel without interruptions. 

He pushed his fingers through the brass ring and pulled the door upwards, dust flew into his nose and eyes causing him to sneeze loudly. He waited with his hand covering his mouth to make sure you weren’t going to appear beside him, he let a few moments pass before deciding you weren’t paying attention to your surroundings. He hurriedly grabbed the stack of papers and stuffed them in his coat, he was increasingly getting worried you had done something to harm yourself. He shut the trap door and threw the shoes back into the closet haphazardly before pulling the closet doors together and exiting the room. He had begun descending down the steps when he smelled smoke coming from the kitchen, a thick cloud billowing up towards him. He bounded down the stairs and skipped the bottom two, squeaking around the corner while waving his hands to clear the smoke.

“___!” he screamed. 

“FUCK!” you yelled in response flipping on the vent above the stove. 

You were standing with a half empty bottle of wine in your hand and the other was clad in snowflake patterned oven mitt. You were holding onto a silver baking tray with what looked like very burned, crispy gingerbread men. Your eyes were slightly bloodshot and you were uneasy on your feet, which caused him to growl as he came over to you and grabbed the bottle of wine from your hand.

“HEY!” you yelled reaching for the glass bottle. 

You swiped at it but he just held it up higher out of your reach and your blood boiled, you began to jump like a child reaching for a toy, cursing and muttering under your breath.

“What are you doing?” Sherlock asked placing the wine above the refrigerator. You scowled and buried your face in your hands. 

You didn’t want to cry, you were sick of crying already today, all you wanted was a sweet reminder of what this house used to mean.

“Fucking failing at baking, clearly” you said. You grabbed another bottle of wine from the counter and popped the cork out. You had been sampling wines from your fath-well your cellar now, and this one had tasted too bitter but it was the closest one to you. It was a deep red color, it reminded you of freshly spilled blood, the kind that dripped from the neck of people being bit by vampires in the movies, and it reminded you of how you felt, dark and bitter. You took a swig, making a horrified face before deciding it could be useful elsewhere.

“I know you wanted to burn this house down but it would probably be a better idea to leave the house first.” Sherlock said walking towards you. 

You walked backwards shakily, the booze and smoke had left your eyesight less than ideal, and you felt the plush white carpet under your feet. Your back hit a tall wooden dining chair and your elbow smashed into the corner sending pain shooting up your arm, you yelped and the bottle fell from your hand spilling its contents onto the carpet. It lay on its side gushing warm wine, the stain would set deep in the roots of the carpet. As you stared at it, it began to feel as if a small hole appeared in your sides, letting some of the anger and resentment out, mimicking the spilled bottle, your feelings poured out around you. The dust settled, your heart began beating normally again, thumping loudly in your ears. You looked over your shoulder and saw a crystal vase sitting on the table, dead flowers hung stiff and crinkled over the top, a few petals lay scattered on the table. You grabbed the vase and threw it into the wall, water splashed against the white leaving a glimmering stain, glass flew everywhere, clinking onto the tile and sliding out of the kitchen. More spilled out, your heart beat faster, your lips turned upwards and it felt as if tiny butterflies were making their way through your veins, leaving little trails of warm kisses all over your body. It was as if the dust had settled, the fog finally cleared, the vast, deep ocean pulling you down finally let go and you flung forward, finally free.

Sherlock watched your face as the light came back into your eyes, he could see your aura again. His heart was swelling with happiness; you had finally come back to him. He was unsure of what to do next, if he should touch you, speak to you, or just let you find your own way. He shifted his weight as you pushed past him to the cabinet and rose on your tiptoes to grab a stack of white plates. You let them fall, the blast of the impact ringing in your ears, white porcelain scraped against the wood. You laughed, you finally laughed. He loved the sound, he missed it, and he finally felt like he could breathe again. Your eyes met and his heart fluttered as you made your way to him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your lips into his. 

He lifted you up off the floor, the shattered porcelain snapping into dust under his feet as he placed you on the counter without breaking the kiss. You had missed the feeling of his lips, the force of his grip and protective arms around you. He finally pulled away, sucking in air before diving for your lips again, biting and begging for entrance to your mouth. You allowed his warm tongue to stroke against your bottom lip before smiling into him and giving him what he wanted. You wrapped your fingers in his hair to pull him closer, wrapping your legs around his neck to grind up against him. He moaned against you, running his hand down your chest to undo the buttons of your jacket. Your heart began to race and you pushed him backwards, the room was spinning and it was hard for you to breathe. You placed your two fingers on your neck, your pulse didn’t feel like it did in your chest, as if your heart was about to explode.

“___, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to push you” Sherlock said biting his bottom lip. 

You were having a panic attack, this was the PTSD the hospital therapist was talking about, she had said physical contact might be an issue, and this was new and it was definitely not okay with you. You closed your eyes and focused on your breathing, remembering everything you had read about panic attacks and subduing them. After a few moments passed you felt settled, your breathing returned to normal, and you popped your eyes open to look at Sherlock.

“Too fast” you muttered swinging your legs on the counter. 

You watched him walk to the cabinet and pull out a few mugs, handing you one with a crooked smile. You could see the pain in his eyes but he was trying his best, and for that you were thankful. You weren’t exactly sure how much of it was you, but John was working a number on this man. The sheer volume of his compassion and understanding had grown in a tremendous way, and it was clear that John saw so much in him that others did not, and you were thankful you had the opportunity to discover what a truly amazing man he was. You fingered the cup in your hands before grabbing onto the handle and throwing it against the fridge. It carved lines in the metal from where it had landed; making it look like a tiger had taken its claws to the door. You smiled as another cup whirled past your head into the wall.

“This is fun” Sherlock said handing you another cup. 

“This is ridiculous” you said with a laugh before hoping down off the counter, being careful to avoid the sharp shards scattered around your feet.

You flung the cellar door open and grabbed a few bottles of wine, popping the corks with the corkscrew on the counter and walked to the dining room, climbing onto the table. You set two bottles down on the edge, then turned and walked to the middle of the table holding the other two open bottles, turning them down and as the liquid began to pour you spun around spraying the dark liquid everywhere. The sound of crashing dishes echoed throughout the house as you spun, tilting your head up to feel the sun cascading on your face, letting the final waves of despair flow out of your body, succumbing to the chaos you had full control over, and damn did you miss this control.


	17. Closure

Your ass was freezing almost literally; the grass had been far wetter than you thought. The wine had blurred your vision and warmed your body until now, the sweat that dripped from your forehead felt like it would turn into ice, your muscles felt tight and exhausted, you were panting like a dog on a hot summer day, and even the blaze from the huge fire before you was not enough to warm you. Sherlock sat next to you with legs crossed, he didn’t look very amused but his eyes were glued to the huge blaze of flames, licking and lapping its way around the crumbling wood structure. There was a loud bang from the red doors finally collapsing on themselves, the paint melded into the blackening brick of the patio and your old swing crumpled like paper, quickly being gobbled up by the fire.

You pushed your hair out of your eyes and looked to your right, there were piles of expensive things thrown haphazardly in a heap, vases with beautiful etchings stuck out left and right, paintings with golden framed glistened against the high sun and snow, two large Persian rugs were rolled up sloppily, frayed ends sticking out from the bottoms. The pile was at least a foot high, Sherlock had thought you were joking when you said you wanted to save the valuables for donation, but once you started drunkenly looting your own home he began to help you. He had suggested your tea set from your bedroom, which caused you to hiccup back a sob and punch him in the stomach. You felt a little bad about that now, since the wine was making its way out of your bloodstream, but you were too fixated on the beautiful chaos that swallowed your home in mesmerizing hues of orange and red. You were expecting to hear sirens soon, the billowing smoke rose like thick puffs from an angry dragon and there was no way the few neighbors scattered along the hills wouldn’t notice. 

Sherlock glanced at you from the side, taking his hand and placing it on his coat pocket, patting down the square frame he had taken from your home. He wasn’t sure how to go about giving it to you, the punch in the stomach was a clear indicator that you weren’t ready to heal from your past, and he couldn’t blame you. Still something thumped loudly in the very darkest corner of his mind that you would regret not saving a picture of your mother, so while you were busy shattering windows with a bat you had found, he snuck to the hallway and pocketed the picture. He crinkled his nose, the smoke was starting to waft your direction, the smell of burning cedar and cloth mixed in with the scent of the overgrown grass was overpowering, the crackling and crunching of wood beams falling on each other became background noise to his current thoughts.

He wasn’t sure what to tell you but you hadn’t asked either. He just needed a few more things to piece together his theory before sharing it with you. The one thing that bothered him was the fact that they still hadn’t figured out who had saved you, it was something Mycroft seemed to brush of as luck, but both he and John weren’t entirely sure you were that lucky. He supposed Mycroft felt a little moronic in not figuring out his employers intentions himself, which he should because he had spent years with the man and still had seen nothing amiss. Sherlock chuckled to himself at the thought of Mycroft slipping into senility, then he would have no one tutting at him every time he showed some sort of affection towards anybody, not that he did it that often but the silence would be a nice change. He saw your body move from the corner of his eye, you shifted so you lay on your back looking up at the black clouds of smoke against the bright blue sky. He turned his body to face you, running his fingers along your collarbone and up to your ear.

“Did you know?” you asked breaking the silence. 

Sherlock bit his bottom lip, furrowing his brow as if he had no idea what you were talking about, as if you would believe that.

“Did. You. Know” you said enunciating each word with as much force as possible, forcing your light airy voice to drop a scale lower.

“Yes” Sherlock replied.

You shot up suddenly and brought his face to yours by locking your fingers in his hair and yanking. He squinted his eyes and winced, placing his own hands on your wrists but letting you keep your grasp. His breath tickled your lips as your eyes searched his face, his bold eyes shining with the help of the wine you made him drink.

“You could have told me, I’m not helpless,” you said finally.

Sherlock had never considered telling you, never even had a thought cross his mind that you would be able to handle being in on the plan and that made his stomach feel as if a knife had plunged itself deep into the center. He swallowed hard, searching for the words he could say to make himself feel better, to explain his choices but nothing came to him. His mouth opened and closed multiple times until a fragment sentence forced its way from his mouth.

“I’m sorry” he said finally. 

It wasn’t hard for him to detect the shock written all over your face, it wasn’t that you were shocked that Sherlock cared for you, it was the utter shock that it didn’t take hours of going over the night and his multiple reasons for why he wasn’t entirely at fault. Those words, those exact two words that mean everything and nothing at the same time, pounded in your ear leaving a ringing and a flutter in your heart. You wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your nose in his coat collar and inhaling his personal scent. You missed his warmth; you missed the rigidness of his reaction to people touching him because when he relaxed in your arms it meant the world to you. His ability to feel comfortable with you was the greatest gift you had ever received, so few words had been exchanged between you two when you had first met but the chemistry was undeniable and you often felt he was even surprised by his own antics. 

“Promise you won’t hide anything from me again” you said to him. 

He wrapped his arms around your waist and stared off into the fire and the sound of alarms could be heard wailing off in the distance. Before he could stop himself the lies tumbled out of his mouth.

“I promise” he said giving you a quick kiss on the cheek before releasing you and rising to his feet.

His stomach turned and his chest ached, a tiny annoying voice in the back of his head was screaming that it was a bad idea, the word liar being repeated over and over again but he had made his decision. There was no turning back now, no way to take the words back so he would just have to be careful that you didn’t find out. He extended his hand to you as two fire trucks and an ambulance arrived, tires screeching to a halt and various uniformed men shouting at each other. 

You looked back at the commotion as Sherlock grabbed your hand and pulled you up gently, making sure not to irritate your already wounded figure. You heard a firefighter shouting at you to move as you feigned shock, fanning yourself with your fingers so that maybe they wouldn’t bother you with how this giant house just burst into flames. Sherlock’s finger interlaced with yours as you both walked over to the dead apple tree, the grass crunched and gave way under your boots, there was barely any snow left since the sun had been beating down on the ground. You rested your back against the dense tree, feeling the bark poking into your back as you watched the scene unfold in front of you.

The first fire truck drove through, knocking the remaining fence off its hinges as the one behind it ran it over with its large tires. The ambulance stayed put, the driver jumped out with a cup of coffee in hand, staring at the great flames as he made his way over to the two of you. You ran your fingers along your healing head, the peach fuzz in the back was making its way back to regular length, you would have to get your staples removed in a few days and you were not excited to have another scar on your body. The paramedic’s nametag shone in the light, his dark blue uniform looked crisp and untouched and he looked like he had only been awake for about forty-five minutes.

“This your house?” he asked eyeing Sherlock.

“Well it’s not really a house..” you muttered, staring at the fire.

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow at you, patting you on the head before speaking.

“She’s a little crazy, off her meds. Best get her back to the asylum!” Sherlock said quickly as he pushed you forward.

“Really?” you asked dryly.   
“It’s not entirely a lie” he said smiling down at you.

\------------------------------------

You tapped your foot impatiently, your heel clicked on the off-white tile, you were a little too jittery from all the coffee you chugged before leaving the house this morning. Your red sweater was new and a little itchy and once again you became pissed at Mycroft for causing you to get dead guy blood on your favorite winter shirt, cursing his name under your breath. You rubbed your fingers down your black dress pants, straightening the seams and picking strands of your own hair off your knee. For a girl with a bald spot, you sure shed a lot of long hair. 

You ran your free hand through your hair and pushed the strands behind your ear, your bracelet jingled against your wrist, the little charms sparkled in the overhead lights. The waiting room in the large office building of your family lawyer was quiet; you assumed not a lot of people needed legal help on a Monday afternoon. The chair was a plush burgundy that felt close to silk, your pants made a swishing noise as you jiggled your legs against it, wishing you hadn’t come here alone. Sherlock and John said they had a case and they had dropped you off by yourself on the way to wherever they were going.

Lately those two had been pretty secretive about their cases, you had asked Sherlock questions about them in the past week but he had been very vague with you. You had even given John some whisky to pry some answers out of him but to your dismay it just made him giggly and brotherly, always changing the subject when cases came up. You looked up at the clock, the ticking of the second hand matched with your eye pulsating from the boredom and annoyance you felt. You had one week left before you were allowed back at the hospital, and you had spent your free time practicing on fruits, reading medical journals and watching old surgical tapes Sherlock had ‘borrow’ for you from the hospital. Your phone beeped in your pocket but before you could look at it the door opened and a frail, frizzy haired woman with lipstick on her tooth motioned you into the office.

You smiled and rose to your feet, straightening your sweater before walking into the room behind her. A man in a nice suit was facing you, his eyes were on a piece of paper he was holding while his other hand made motions as if the person he was talking to on his Bluetooth could see the gestures he was making. You took a seat on the cream-colored couch, accidently knocking your elbow into a fake potted plant on the side. You cringed at the sound, but the man didn’t seem to notice so you scooted more into the middle, sending a glare at the fake plant. You looked around the room, various pictures donned his desk, a few of the same boat and a tall tan woman with giant breasts and a bitty waste holding up a wine glass and smiling. The walls were paneled wood with a two degrees hanging beside each other among various pictures of him shaking hands with a few celebrities, as you scanned the walls until one picture caught your eye.

Your mysterious lawyer whose name you still didn’t know was shaking hands with a tall man with piercing eyes and a handsome smile. He had on a suit perfectly tailored to his sculpted body, his hair was a chocolate brown, nearly as dark as Sherlock’s. He towered over the lawyer, and you couldn’t tell exactly where it was but it looked like some sort of party in a bar that would be seen in an old gangster movie, you peered at the picture more and you could swear that there was an outline of a gun in his jacket.

“So, Mrs.___” said the man in the big red chair in front of you.

You jumped a little at the intrusion of your thoughts and you snapped your attention back to the matter at hand.

“I’ve met you once; you probably don’t remember me but the last time you were here with your family I was at your house. The one that mysteriously combusted” He said through a small laugh. “My name is Mr. Douglas, but everyone calls me Henry, I’ve been your family lawyer since before you were born. Now about the asset-“ 

“Sell it all” you said cutting him off. 

He blinked in confusion before folding his hands together on the desk; his thin gold wedding ring flickered from the desk lamp shining onto it. He pursed his lips together, causing more wrinkles to appear on the side of his face, his blonde hair was slicked back like an Italian mobster, his green eyes reminded you of grass after a big rainstorm but their lifelessness reminded you of a ken doll.

“You sure you want to sell all of it?” he asked staring at you. 

“Yes, I already have a flat. I’m going to be a surgeon in a few years so I don’t need the money. Sell the houses and donate the bonds to various charities, same with any possessions of value”

“The cars?” he said leaning back in his chair and pulling open a desk drawer, rummaging around in it while keeping his eyes on yours. 

You squirmed in your chair, you had forgotten about the cars. Well one car, your mother’s old car. A beautiful Maserati Gran Turismo S, two-seater with cream leather seats, cherry red exterior and an engine that purred so softly it sounded like angels singing. You had loved that car, partially because it was a Maserati and god who didn’t love those cars, but more so because it was the only thing your father kept of your mothers. You had no idea what he had one with her jewelry, her clothes or her books, but you knew he kept her car in a garage in New York somewhere.

“From the look on your face I gather you’re thinking about your mother’s old car? If you’d like to keep it, I know where the garage is, I have the key here actually.” He said placing a small black lock box on the desk. 

“You’d have to fly to New York to sign papers for it, and the apartment in New York City, everything else I can take care of from here. I’m not going to bother filing and insurance claim for the house out in Lincoln, I’ll just use some of the bonds to pay to have the land re-done then sell it. Sound good?” he asked grabbing a key ring from the center of his desk and flipping through.

You nodded and watched him flip through the metal keys, brass and metal clinked together before he landed on a small around key and placed it inside the keyhole. His wrist turned and the latch clicked open, he pushed the box towards you and you peered inside it. There was a tiny wooden box with your family crest carved into it, the wood was dark as everything was with your family, the cursive letters stared back at you and you shivered. You hated that stupid crest your dad made you use, you had to stamp it on every thank you note, every application to college, even when he sent you various things at boarding school he used that god damn crest stamp. You picked up the box and placed it in your jacket pocket, crossing your legs and jiggling them again. 

“Anything else you need from me?” you said dryly, suddenly getting uneasy about being in here alone.

“I’m sorry about..your father. He was a good man before..he just..there’s a lot you don’t know” he said before clamping his mouth shut. You cocked your eyebrow at him, standing up and walking towards his desk, placing both your hands on either side of the wood desk.

“Like what?” you said keeping your gaze on his.

“N-n-nothing of importance. Nice to see you again, and good luck!” he said and pressed the buzzer on his phone, asking his secretary to call in his next client.

The door swung open behind you, the cold air from the waiting room rushed up your back and the sound of a tiny cough came from the frail woman who had helped you before. You huffed and turned around and put your hands in your jacket pockets and made your way out the door. You jabbed the button and waited for the elevator to make its way to your floor and you pulled your phone out, clicking on the message from a friend at the hospital. You slid your thumb and read the text, smiling and doing a little jump in the air.

The metal doors of the elevator opened and you stepped in, squealing to yourself and ignoring the people around you. You were being allowed to practice in the skills lab, this was the best news you had gotten in days. You tried to contain your excitement as you exited the building and made your way to the street but before you could get your hand in the air a familiar black car pulled up and your heart sank. The door flung open, Mycroft’s profile greeted you, his hand shot out, and he motioned you in the car. You groaned and slid yourself down into the seat facing him, pouting to yourself as he shut the door and the car made its way down the road.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Mycroft said picking a piece of lint from his shoulder and flinging it beside him.

“You almost got me killed” you scoffed, crossing your arms and looking out the window.

“I am aware.” he said tapping you on your knee.

You turned to face him, his suit was a light brown and his tie was maroon, his eyes had dark circles under them and as usual his face looked like hadn’t pooped in days. You thought about what he had just said and assumed this was the closest thing you would get to an apology from this rigid android. You shot him a half smile and looked back out the window, knowing he didn’t need more than that to understand what you were saying.

“Take me to the hospital please” you said smiling. Mycroft nodded and tapped on the glass and you both sat in peaceful, understanding silence.


	18. Welcome to New York

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, that TSwift song was playing when I named this chapter.

You ran your fingers up and down the beige plastic armrests nervously, fingernails tapping against the tops in an erratic pattern. You leaned your head against the thick glass of the oval window and looked down at the tarmac below, people in neon vests pulled a small luggage train to the end of the plane and waved their arms at each other, while a long tube coiled its way around to the front of the plane, filling it with fuel. You gulped loudly and tried to pull your body closer to the eggshell colored walls, away from the large man who occupied the seat next to you. You hated flying, the recycled air always made you gag and having strangers sit so close to you made you anxious and restless. Your legs jiggled profusely and you muttered curse words under your breath, hoping that you would take off soon. You closed your eyes, tried to visualize a faceless body in front of you, pulling your hands up from their iron grip on the armrests, and began practicing cross-stitches, running whipstitches and basically anything to keep your mind occupied. Your hands glided across the air rhythmically and the man next to you shifted and knocked his knee into yours.

“Watch it!” you seethed, not bothering to open your eyes. 

“Nice to see you too, ___”. 

Your eyes popped open to see John placing an overhead bag in the compartment above you and the knee that knocked into you belonged to Sherlock. You blinked, very confused at how these men happened to have the skills of silent ninjas. Sherlock looked wide-awake compared to John’s tired eyes, he looked like had too much caffeine and the corner of his mouth curled up into a lop-sided smile as he looked you over, pushing a strand of hair from your face.

“What. How. When did you get here?” you stuttered confused.

“I’ve been sitting here for a good five minutes, how can go about life paying attention to nothing?” Sherlock asked before turning to face forward. 

You gritted your teeth as John sat himself down in the aisle seat, giving you a look that matched your own annoyance with the great detective. You pursued your lips together, crossed your legs, and turned towards the window again, praying that you’d be able to sleep through this flight. You wanted to ask them why they were here, but considering they barely let you out of their site this past week you weren’t that surprised. The pilot’s voice rang overhead as he began his speech, discussing the weather in New York, the estimated arrival time and the flight attendants began going over the safety precautions, which on cue is when your anxiety began to get the best of you.

“I should have popped some Prozac” you said to yourself as your legs began shaking uncontrollably. 

Sherlock placed his hand over your knee, forcefully pushing down to stop them from shaking so much. He shot you an annoyed glance, before taking his free hand and pulling his scarf off and placing it on your legs.

“Hold that” he said removing his hand and shrugging his coat off. 

“Are you afraid of flying ___” John asked as he picked up a magazine and began thumbing through the pages.

“Yes” you said taking a big breath through your nose.

You tried to remember your breathing exercises as the plane began moving backwards, turning itself around and began making its way down the runway. You began biting on your nails and jiggling your leg again, squeezing your eyes shut and trying to think of anything other than the giant hunk of metal that was soon to be flying through the air, at night, in the wind for twelve hours across a bleak, deep ocean. You had actually forgotten about the ocean part, but now that it was fresh in your mind your heart began racing, your palms started to sweat and it took all your might not to let out a muffled cry. 

“What are you so afraid of?” Sherlock asked as he scrolled through his phone.

“Flying, clearly” John said reaching across Sherlock and rubbing your shoulders. 

“You have a greater chance of dying in a car crash than you do a plane crash” Sherlock said looking over at you.

“Thank you, that was very comforting” you retorted. 

You heard John sigh as he pulled his hand away, grabbing a flight attendant and ordering a glass of whisky and some water for you. As the sound of the engine speeding up echoed under you preparing to shoot the plane down the runway, your hands gripped onto the seat, you tried to slow your heart but nothing was working, all you could think about was different scenarios of the million ways you could die on this contraption. You heard the click of a seatbelt and opened one eye to see Sherlock fastening the belt around your waist, his one hand still held the phone in his hand but his eyes were on you. He tilted his head as his hand lingered on your waist, pulling on the band of your yoga pants.

“Why are you wearing pajamas on a plane?” he asked quizzically.

“Why not? I’m going to be sitting for twelve hours it’s not like I need a ball gown for it” you said opening your other eye. He crinkled his nose at your comment, brown curls falling in to the side of his face, framing it beautifully. 

“Yes and we all know what happened last time you were in a ball gown” John said before choking on his whiskey and turning to you horrified.

“Someone has their sassy pants on today“ you replied with a smile.

John smiled, thankful your sense of humor was still intact.

“Why did they take your staples out early? You have barely been lying around resting, I had to drag you from the skills lab to sleep” Sherlock said pulling your head towards him by your neck and pushing it down so he could take a look at your scar. 

You gripped his arm so you wouldn’t fall directly into his lap and sighed annoyed, it had taken you a good twenty minutes to get your hair so it perfectly covered the growing patch of hair at the base of your skull, and now Sherlock had just ruined all your efforts to not look like a mental case. He ghosted his finger down the scar, sending shivers down your spine at the memory. He exhaled and released you, settling more into his seat while letting his long fingers rake gently down your hair, smoothing it down so it covered the scar. 

“I am resting! I’m obviously healing since they took out my staples. My hands need practice Sherlock, or else the muscles will freeze up and die!” you exclaimed, grabbing the glass of water from John’s tray and taking a big gulp.

“Being a doctor I assume you know your muscles will not freeze and die, ___” Sherlock said turning his attention to the window behind you.

“Don’t they usually ask you to keep the trays up when we take off?” you asked John, trying to ignore Sherlock’s comment.

“___, We’ve been in the air for 10 minutes already” John said glancing over and pointing out the window.

“What!” you said a little too loudly, causing the people across the aisle to glare in unison. 

You put your hand over your mouth and turned to face the window, seeing nothing but stars and darkened clouds below you. You were in the air, higher than the birds, higher than the clouds, and as you peered down they thinned out, revealing glistening clumps of lights that looked like little beads of glitter scattered along the country. You sighed, reveling in the sights, it was the only part of flying that you enjoyed, which is another reason you chose a later flight. It seemed less scary hovering over a city when all you could see was the brightness of nightlife. You turned to Sherlock who had pulled some papers from seemingly nowhere , his eyes were focused on the tiny print, his white shirt clung to his lithe body, rolled up to his elbows so the milky skin of his forearms greeted you, causing you to involuntarily lick your lips. As if by magic or creepily inhuman hearing, Sherlock turned to face you, eyes glistening with mischief as they traveled down to your lips then down to your v-neck t-shirt that hugged your body nearly as tightly as his did.

“You distracted me” you said to him, turning your body so your knee was up on the seat facing him.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“What are you reading?” you asked trying to peer over his shoulder. He placed the papers face down and took your chin in his hands, pulling your face closer to his as he peered down at you, lips hovering millimeters away from yours.

“Rest” he said before releasing your face and handing you a pillow that John had fallen asleep holding on his lap. You snatched it from him and grumbled to yourself before placing it on the wall, leaning your head on it so you could fall asleep looking at the fading lights below you.

\------------  
Your head hit the top of the cab door as Sherlock dragged you out of the car by your arm, John following close behind. You scowled at the man who was rushing you so hastily, his utter annoyance with the cab driver sparked a very uncomfortable ride, and while John tried to hush the man, Sherlock was intent on making every person in New York hate him.

After the plane had landed Sherlock had complained loudly about the way they exited aircrafts in the most idiotic way, causing the pilot’s head to turn a bright red as you and John dragged Sherlock away before the poor pilot could call security, the luggage carousel was even was worse as Sherlock whined like a child because, according to him, it took long for it to arrive. You thought John was going to kill the man when you three stepped outside into the crisp afternoon, with snow swirling around you as you walked halfway into the street to hail a cab, only to have the driver curse you all and drive off as Sherlock had refused to get into the cab because of it was not ‘clean enough’. You had finally made it to your destination after refusing two more cabs, finally kicking Sherlock hard in the shin and pulling him into the car before he could walk away from you and John.

“Sherlock can you go one day without injuring me!?” you wailed.

“The man was an idiot, I’d like to get this over with as soon as possible” Sherlock huffed dragging you down the street.

“Do you even know where you’re going?” John asked striding alongside him. 

“Don’t be stupid, John” Sherlock replied, pulling his scarf closer around his neck with his idle hand.

You looked up at the swirl of grey buildings, windows decorated with Christmas lights, office buildings with blurs of people in suits running back and forth, the streets were bustling with old couples in fur coats walking their dogs, young children in dark blue blazers and white pleated skirts walking in packs, giggling and laughing loudly. The row of lofts were all the same cookie-cutter fashion, white bricks with heavy iron gates guarding the blue oak doors, huge windows facing the sidewalks with blinds drawn to the side to let the sun in. Your heels clicked on the sidewalk as you tried to keep pace with Sherlock’s long strides and you cursed yourself for changing at the airport. Normally you didn’t care too much about your outward appearance, but you knew too many people here and even though you hadn’t taken the job at Columbia Hospital, you made connections here and you definitely didn’t want to look like a slob if you happened to see them in your neighborhood.

“Sherlock, can you please slow down. Why are you in such a rush?” you asked yanking your arm from his grasp.

“She’s right, why are you in such a hurry?” John asked eyeing the man suspiciously.

“I would just like to do what we came here to do, I have cases that need to be solved at home” he replied.

“No you don’t” John retorted, crossing his arms and stopping. 

Sherlock pursued his lips together as you joined John in his rebellious stance, watching Sherlock walk a few feet ahead before turning on his heel to face you two. His hair whipped in the wind, his coat fluttered around his knees and he looked very deep in thought, eyes darting between the two of you like he was trying to figure out if he should tell you the truth or lie.

“Don’t lie to me” you said harshly.

“I don’t like being away from home” Sherlock muttered, turning to look at the ground before fully pivoting and walking forward again.

You and John looked at each other confused before hurrying to catch up with the tall man, nearly having to sprint to get next to him. You pulled the round top of your white mittens back so the tips of your fingers were free and wedged them between Sherlock’s ice-cold fingers. His expression didn’t change but he responded with his hands, gripping your hand tightly as you all came to a stop, waiting for the signal to walk across the street. You crossed the busy street turning onto 86th Avenue you had a sudden rush of warmth in your belly, this was one of the very few places you actually felt safe, it was the one part of your history that was good, you had memories of shoveling late night tacos down your throat while you crammed for the MCATS with the few friends you had made at NYU. You were making your way towards the more ‘prestige’ spot in area, most of the lofts were inhabited by kids your age, some fresh out of high school, attending NYU or Columbia on their parents dime, throwing parties in their gigantic lofts till five am and paying off professors to give them good grades while they slept through class or just didn’t go at all. You knew these kids, you were friends with them before you had even hit the age of sixteen, and you probably would have ended up being one of them if Moriarty hadn’t guided you.

You shuddered at the thought, you still hadn’t told anyone about that and you weren’t entirely sure how much information they had on everything, but you had been too exhausted to ask. As far as you knew, Luca was still out there and so was Moriarty, but the texts and emails had stopped so you assumed he had moved on, or was scared that he would get shot if he tried to hurt you again. Your throat suddenly felt dry as the images from the ball flooded through your mind again, causing the scar on the back of your head to throb like it had its own heartbeat. Sherlock seemed to notice as he began to rub his thumb on the inside of your palm against the warm wool of your gloves, tugging at you lightly to look up at him.

“I believe we are here” he said softly, glancing over at the towering building in front of you.

“Yeah..” you said wistfully, glancing upwards at the high-rise building you lived in while you attended NYU.

The building looked like it was made entirely of glass, large square windows covered the building starting on the fourth floor, the dark wood pillars held up the tower, revealing a gold revolving door underneath guarded by a sleepy looking doorman. You pulled the keys the lawyer gave you out from your wristlet, jiggling them until you found the key to the loft and began walking towards the door. Sherlock released your hand as him and John strolled behind, looking around in awe. You reached the door attendant and gave him a smile, he was in his mid forties, had a pot belly and kind eyes. You showed him the small keychain that held your apartment information and a tiny picture of you, it was dark grey and tattered from years of being stored god knows where but it seemed to be enough as he allowed you through with a white-gloved hand. 

You pushed yourself through the revolving door, forgetting about the men behind you as you walked into the main lobby, suddenly feeling the heat blasting on you from the central air. You peeled your tan pea coat off your body and draped it on your arm, and pulled your gloves as you made your way to the sheen metal elevator doors. You heard the click of the boy’s shoes behind you as you pressed the ‘up’ button for the elevator you heard chatter from the corner of the lobby. You glanced to your left as two women barely out of your vision were huddled together, pointing and speaking harshly about you, not even bothering to hide the fact that they were discussing your private life.

“Don’t pay attention to them” John said stepping close to you and patting your shoulder.

“I thought I could get away from the attention, even in New York I get recognized for my tragedies” you sighed leaning back into John’s thick coat. 

“You’ll be remembered for great things, don’t worry about the nonsense” Sherlock said.

John’s mouth fell open a little as the elevator doors opened, revealing a wood paneled box with bright lights shining down from the ceiling. You shuffled forward and pressed the 26th floor button, and looked forward at your reflection in the doors. The ride was quiet, just the hum of the elevator and Sherlock’s incessant tapping of his fingers on the metal railing at his side. The doors opened revealing a dark blue hallway with white carpet the color of fresh fallen snow, tall plants and Christmas decorations donned the corners and hallway tables, and the fresh scent of pine wafted into your nose. You turned down the hallway, familiar steps taking place as your muscle memory led you down to the very end of the hall and before you knew it your key was in the door and you were flinging it open like you were coming home from a long day of classes.

The windows looked like they had just been cleaned from the outside, soft grey tiles shone brightly underneath the large black chandelier in the center of the room, tiny yellow light bulbs covered the top of it, extending outward in three rings, the largest spanned nearly the entire length of the room. You walked forward running your finger along the sheen black marble-top bar, and turned back to see what the boys were doing, they hadn’t even made it past the walkway, they were just staring into space.

“Something wrong?” you asked.

“This place..is amazing. Why in the hell would you move into that basement after you lived here?” John asked loudly, looking upwards at the chandelier as he made his way into the empty living room. 

Sherlock said nothing as he walked behind John, eyes darting from the large white fireplace in the center of the room, to the white wooden kitchen you were standing in, then back the other way to the opened door that led to the bedroom.

“Your furniture” he said walking towards the bedroom.

“What?” you asked following him, heels clacking against the tile.

“You took your furniture from here, the stuff that’s in the flat” he said turning around and cocking his head at you.

You smirked and looked at John who was now standing directly under the chandelier, as if it was speaking to him. 

“Should have taken this” John said pointing at the light above.

“I’m not talented enough to pull that off” you said laughing, poking at his arm.

“Do you know where the keys to the car are?” Sherlock asked, brushing his finger against the empty black bookshelves that had been built into the wall.

“Yeah, lawyer said everything was in the first drawer in the kitchen” you said turning back to walk up the steps to the kitchen.

Your lawyer was showing the brownstone to a few families through his personal realtor, trying to sell it as quickly as possible, but that meant you would have to wait to retrieve the car until later, which left the possibility of tonight wide open. You smiled to yourself; it had been ages since you had gone out and had fun, and from what you have heard from John, Sherlock could be a fun drunk. You knew John was, and you felt bad that the man hadn’t had a successful date in awhile. You tapped your fingers together like the evil genius you were and skipped over to the liquor cabinet underneath the bar, pulling out a half finished handle of dark rum.

“Want to explore the city, John?” you asked whirling the bottle around in your hand.

“ We nee-“ Sherlock started but John was quick to cut him off.

“What do you have in mind?” John asked walking towards you and grabbing the bottle from your hand, reading the label carefully.

“Everything” you said, eyeing Sherlock playfully.

You could see it, just for a brief moment, but his eyes twinkled in curiosity as you uncapped the bottle and took a swig of it, the bitter taste burning your throat, and your stomach turned in excitement of the night you had planned for the two of them


	19. Beat

The music pulsated as bodies grinded with the throbbing beat exploding from sleek wall speakers surrounding the club, blue and green laser lights shot around all the walls and through the crowds of people. You were pushed up against the bar by Sherlock, whom had taken the bottle of rum from you and proceeded to drink the majority of it before handing it off to John. You were stone cold sober but that was alright with you, since you knew the city well enough you opted to be the designated cab hailer, and from the spat between John and Sherlock it seemed Sherlock was a messier drunk than you. You waited impatiently as the male bartender spun bottles in front of a group of girls who clearly weren’t from the city; their wide eyes expressed amazement at the simple party trick the bartender had mastered. The sleek marble counter was digging into your ribcage; Sherlock’s tongue was dancing along your neck and wiggling up to your ear sloppily.

“Sherlock, get it together!” you hissed, pressing your hips backwards into him.

“Because that’ll help” he muttered.

You could smell the liquor on his breath and the cigarettes he had picked up after whining about prices still lingered on his fingertips as they traced their way down your spine, fluttering over your arse. His hand cupped your cheek almost as tight as the emerald fabric dress did, causing you to bite your lip and stifle a moan. Sherlock chuckled darkly as his fingers slid between the back of your legs, long fingers dancing up to brush against your bare skin.

“Naughty little minx, you’re just begging me to-“

“I didn’t want panty lines!” you whispered while wriggling out of his grasp.

You gritted your teeth and tried to find John in the crowd of swaying bodies, you could see him awkwardly dancing with a cougar in a bright teal sequence cocktail dress, her dark curly hair was swaying and knocking other people in the face, she was grinding on John and he seemed to love it. You smiled inwardly, scanning through the crowd aimlessly while you waited for your tonic water. 

“This is taking forever, do you know how many times I could have made you come” Sherlock slurred into your ear.

“I’m sure if I show him my tits we would get faster service” you replied sarcastically.

Sherlock gripped at your hips, using his free hand to grab your chin and jolt it sideways to face him. His eyes had glossed over and he gave you a menacing glare before claiming your lips roughly. He forced his tongue between your lips, brushing against your teeth and gums. You leaned back into him, allowing your hand to slip upwards to the back of his neck, gripping at the locks of hair at the nap of his neck. He broke his kiss off but kept his lips hovering over yours.

“Don’t you dare allow another man to see what is mine” he growled.

You blinked and nodded, your stomach fluttered along with the pulsating tingles that shot from your toes to your middle and you felt wetness between your legs. You turned your attention back to the bar, trying to keep your legs squeezed shut as Sherlock’s fingers released their grasp of your hip.  
You tapped your nails on the bar, watching the one bartender mix drinks wildly, while the other continued chatting up the group of doe-eyed women, ignoring the other patrons around him. You leaned yourself further over the bar, spotting the soda dispenser hose and quickly grabbed it along with an upside down glass in a group by the sink. 

You flipped the glass over and pressed the button down on the controls, tonic water spraying into your glass. You grumbled and looked around for the ice which unfortunately was on the other side of the bar and out of your reach. You threw your hands in the air and turned around only to be greeted by open air. Sherlock had apparently gotten bored of you ignoring his advances, as he had taken up some kind of awkward shuffled near John and his new lady.

“Do you need a drink?” came a velvet voice from your side.

An older gentlemen in black dress pants and matching suit jacket laid his elbow on the bar, giving a bartender a silent stare of disapproval, causing him to hurry over to where you two were standing.

“I believe this lady has been waiting an overly gracious amount of time, Alex” said the man in a stern voice.

“I apologize Mr. Rayez, w-what can I get you?” asked the bartender, giving you an apologetic and partially frightened glance.

You ordered your tonic water and he sped off, you turned your head back towards the man, cocking your eyebrow at him.

“He seems frightened” you said eying the man.

He looked vaguely familiar, like he had been in a magazine or a newspaper. He had chestnut hair that had been slicked back perfectly, dark lashes framed his soft brown eyes, his cheekbones nearly matched the sharpness of Sherlock’s, but his demeanor was something different entirely. He looked at ease, not like the older perverts you were used to being around you; his body language didn’t seem threatening, though he seemed to worry everyone else around him. 

“I’d hope so. I do own the place” he said with a smile.

“Do I know you?” you asked as the bartender placed the glass in front of you.

He then gave you a look that you couldn’t place, his mouth twisted up into a lovely grin but his eyes had a wave of something else hidden behind them. You tapped your foot on the tile and began darting your eyes around the club, looking for Sherlock and John. They had both disappeared from their previous stance and so had the woman John was dancing with, the beat had gotten faster and people began cheering loudly as the crowd dispersed from the bar, leaving their seats and made congregating to the dance floor. You placed the tiny black straw on your lips and made it a point to stare down at your glass, watching the ice cubes jolt out in shape as the tonic water lowered to the bottom.

“I knew your mother” said the handsome stranger. 

You nearly choked on your water, giving a slight cough and slamming your fist into your chest so you could breath. Your cheeks felt hot but the rest of your body felt like ice, you couldn’t help your legs from going numb at the mention of your mother. 

“You look just like her, did you also take up her line of work?” he asked taking a now empty seat behind him. 

“I, um. What?” you asked shaking.

He motioned for you to sit on the stool behind you as he ordered himself a drink. The music was deafening so you pulled your chair up as close to him as you could without invading his personal space. You swung your leg on top of your other and began jiggling it, your heel sat on the edge of the footstool that lined the bar as you ordered yourself another drink, your mouth suddenly felt like the Sahara desert.

“Your mother was a wonderful surgeon. Amazing mind, so graceful with her movements” he said swirling his amber color liquid in his tumbler. 

“My mother..was a housewife. I think you have the wrong person” you said clutching your drinking and turning to leave.

“Demetrio never told you?” he said with a raised voice.

Stunned, you set your glass down on the table and stared straight at him, wondering what the hell he was talking about.

“I’m a family friend. Here, take this” he said reaching into his breast pocket and placing a small silver key on the bar.

“Do you always keep small keys in your pocket?” you asked eyeing the hunk of metal.

“Call it a happy coincidence. There is a lock box in your brownstone, in the basement under a false floorboard near the bar. Your mother kept everything she ever wanted you to know in there.” With that he finished his drink and pushed the glass forward.

You tried to grab his arm but the song changed again to a less popular song, causing the sweaty crowd of dancers to surge towards the bar. You tried to follow his lithe figure but it was lost in the crowd of bodies so you quickly swiped the key up from the bar top before it was lost in the shuffle and made your way to the dance floor to try and find Sherlock and John.

You weaved between the gyrating hips and flailing arms, spotting your two boys at the other end of the bar with the cougar. They lifted neon green shot glasses to their lips, slamming them back and then tossing the cups aside. You pushed a large group of men, nearly at your destination when you felt someone grab your waist and pull you into their stomach. 

“Wanna dance, princess?” said a rather burley man from behind you.

“Get the FUCK off me!” you yelled, jabbing your elbow into his rib cage.

Sherlock seemed to have registered your voice, as he came staggering over and gripped onto your wrist, pulling you forward and away from the stranger. You heard him shouting as you took the lead and dragged him over towards John, whom was now swapping spit with his new friend. You let out a groan and rubbed your sweaty palms on the back of your dress as the music switched back to an upbeat tune, the auto-tuned voice of woman came blaring out against the dub step background and you began to sway your hips in unison.

“Dance with me” you said, grabbing onto Sherlock’s shirtsleeve and pulling him into the middle of the dance floor.

He followed happily, grabbing onto your stomach and running his fingers up and down your sides as you faced away from him, allowing your body to grind backwards into his hips. You soon tuned out the rest of the world, everything seemed to blur around you, and the only thing you could hear was Sherlock’s heartbeat and the filtered sound of music. You closed your eyes and let your arms flow freely up and down Sherlock’s form while his hands slithered from your chest to your stomach down to your thighs then back up in the same pattern. 

Sweat formed at your brow and you felt the key pressed into your palm still, giving you a constant reminder of what you had just heard. You couldn’t be sure if what he was saying was true, nor who he was, but there was something in the back of your mind that seemed to set off an alarm that you knew him. You knew you had seen him recently, it was bothering you like hell but you tried to push the thoughts out of your head and enjoy the moment you were having with your favorite person.

You turned to face him and ran your palms up his chest to his neck, sticking your fingers up into his curls and pulling him down for a kiss. He responded hungrily, pressing his hips into yours and continuing to grind on you, causing little whimpers to escape your throat. For a man who seemed so put off by social norms, he sure knew how to move. You broke the kiss off as a large hand made its way into your hair, pulling it back to leave open-mouthed kisses along your neck. He nipped and licked at your jaw line, and you to arched your back into him, your eyelids fluttered as green and blue lights danced above your head. He trailed his hand down your arm, massaging lightly at your wrist before slipping his hand into yours. You opened your eyes as he stopped his movements on your neck, releasing your hair from his grasp.

“What is that?” he asked eyeing the key.

“Nothing” you said trying to pull your hand away.

He kept his grip on your hand, giving you a confusing look while wrapping his arm around your waist to keep you from bolting.

“When are you going to stop keeping things from me?” he asked softly.

“I don’t keep things from you” you said averting your eyes from his pleading stare.

“Yes you do. I always find out anyway, so why don’t you just make it easier on both of us and just tell me.” He said pulling your attention back to his face.

“Like you told me about your little plan with Mycroft?” you spat.

You instantly regretted bringing it up, the look on his face was one you had not seen before. It was sadness, regret, and anger. His lips formed a tight line as he released your hand and your waist, dropping his arms at his sides. Both of you stared at each other as drunk club goers bumped into you, danced around you and even tried to shout at both of you to get you to move. Nothing worked, you both stood still as statues, waiting for the other to speak.

“You still don’t trust me” he said.

You knew this wasn’t a question, he rarely ever asked questions and even when he did he always knew the answer anyways. You tried to form a response but nothing came to you, you hadn’t realized it until he had pointed it out. It made you feel queasy and cowardly, as if someone had stuck a knife directly into your heart. You grabbed his arm and tried to pull him towards you but he stood unmoving. 

“I’ll meet you back at the apartment, John won’t be coming home with us” he snapped, turning abruptly on his heel.

“Sherlock, wait!” you shouted, running after him.

You followed his mop of curly hair through the crowds and out into the brisk winter night. The streets were packed with yellow cabs and town cars, the lights reflected off the snow causing the sky to glow a dark brown, like smog hovering over the city. You cursed your shoe choice as you tried hard not to slip on the iced over sidewalk, pushing snow out of your way with your heeled boots. You finally caught up to him at the crosswalk, grabbing on to his sleeve, panting.

“Sherlock, please” you whispered.

He said nothing as he crossed the street with the crowd, but he did not shake your arm away. You clung to him like a child as you walked in silence for two blocks. You fumbled with your keys as you approached the door man, showing him your ID and then quickly stumbling through the revolving door. You refused to let Sherlock go as you approached the elevator doors, trailing behind him while the doors shut. You pushed him against the wall and grabbed the collar of his coat, forcing him to look at you.

“Will you stop acting like this!” you shouted.

He grabbed your hands angrily, yanking them off him as ding of the elevator alerted your arrival. He dragged you from the elevator by your wrists, pushing you forward, nearly knocking you into the door. You jammed the key into the door, swinging it open and stomping into the apartment. Sherlock pushed past you, flinging his coat onto the counter and moving towards the fridge.

“Why won’t you talk to me!? You’re acting like a child!” you shouted.

Sherlock spun to face you, crossing his arms over his chest and locking eyes with you. They seemed redder than before, he wasn’t swaying when he stood so he had sobered up a bit, anger seemed to radiate off him, sending chills down each vertebra of your spine.

“Do you think I have completely forgotten what happened to you? Do you honestly believe I am so narcissistic and void of emotion that I don’t feel guilt? I think about it every day. Every time I see you it is a blatant reminder of my fuck up, I rarely make mistakes, I do not get outsmarted but it happened and I relive it every day. When I see you flinch at my touch, when your eyes go dull when you replay those moments, when you have nightmares and I can hear you screaming from two floors down. Do you think I don’t notice? Do you?” his voice was shaking as he spoke.

“I didn’t..I” you were at a loss for words.

He clasped his hands together and placed his chin on his fingers, turning his gaze towards the floor. His cheeks were flush as he stood there in silence. You felt hot, like the room was spinning and your head was pounding. You wobbled over to him and wrapped him in an unwanted embrace, he stiffened the way he had the first time you had touched him. You closed your eyes as tears trickled down your cheeks; you began to hiccup as you tried to push down your impending sobs. You tried to find the right words, but nothing had prepared you for this outburst of emotion, it was unnatural and comforting.

“I don’t blame you” you said into his chest.

“You should” he responded, unclasping his hands and wrapping his arms around your back.

You pulled away from his embrace, sniffling and puffy eyed. His eyes softened as he wiped away a tear from your eye with his thumb and nuzzled his nose against yours. You intertwined your fingers in his and pulled him to the fireplace. You motioned for him to sit down, turning towards the open door of the bedroom. You had opted to leave your bed here, in case you ever needed a place to crash if shit in the fan in London, which realistically speaking happened a long time ago. You padded over to the bed, ripping the thick lavender quilt from the it and grabbed the two white fluffy pillows, stuffing them under your arms. You pulled the drawer of the nightstand open, swiping up the black remote and walked back into the living room.

Sherlock was still sitting in front of the fireplace, staring off into space when you pressed a button on the remote and the fire started. You sat down next to him, snuggling against him and handing him one side of the blanket and a pillow. He took the other pillow from you, setting them both down and draping the blanket over your shoulder. He gave you a small smile, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you onto the floor facing him. 

“A guy a the bar, well the owner actually, came up and told me he knew my mother. He gave me the key, said my mom was hiding stuff under the basement of the brownstone.” You said breaking the silence.

“Do you believe him?” Sherlock asked brushing your hair from your face.

“I don’t know, he knew my dad’s name.” you said sighing at his touch.

“Your dad was well known, and from this city. Not hard to google” Sherlock murmured as pulled your body flush against his, claiming your lips in the process

“He said my mom was a surgeon” you muttered between kisses.

“That’s odd” he said, stopping the kiss abruptly.

“Guess we’ll find out tomorrow” you said pulling him back towards you.

“Guess we will” he said, pulling the hem of your dress up with one finger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To smut or not to smut the next chapter...


	20. Losing Control [Edit]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I went to look over this chapter and realized it was way shorter than I thought, then I noticed the weird break and apparently my computer deleted a couple of paragraphs.
> 
> This is the correct/fixed chapter.
> 
> Smuttery all around.

Warmth flicked against your back from the fireplace, from the corner of your eye you could see heavy snow falling in the window like a snow globe that had been turned upside down, giving you blindingly raw flashbacks of your last encounter with a snowy window. Sherlock placed his hand in your hair, pulling you into his lips while his lone finger danced around the hem of your dress. The warmth of his tongue invading your mouth felt wonderful, drawing your mind away from your flashbacks momentarily, it seemed like ages since you two had kissed so deeply. The amount of passion he could emit from one simple act sent your mind on a whirlwind of thoughts, his soft caresses against your lips pulled your body into a vortex where only the two of you existed. He deepened the kiss and rolled you on your back so that he hovered over your body, sliding his leg between your thighs. 

Panic came out of nowhere, your body tensed up and you froze, petrified. You tried to focus on the scent of his skin, the warmth of his body and his increasing heartbeat but your anxiety pounded through your skull, it felt like ice was running through your veins. You broke the kiss off abruptly, a look of panic formed on his face as you felt the tears welling up in the corner of your eyes. You wanted him, needed him, but the fear of losing control of everything made you sick and disturbed. You swallowed hard, trying to form the right words to say to him. You knew by looking at him he didn’t need an explanation, the sadness poured out of his features but he stayed calm and stroked your hair tenderly. 

“Do you want this?” he asked gently, leaning his head into yours.

“Of course I do” you whispered.

“Then stop thinking” he said rubbing his nose against yours.

“What do-“ you began, only to be cut off by a quick kiss.

“Just stop. Stop thinking, stop analyzing, just stop and focus on your body without your mind butting in” he said, bringing your lips to his again.

He was slow this time, methodical and sweet as he nipped at your lips and the corners of your mouth. He propped himself up on his forearms, placing them on either side of your head so he could focus on your lips and jaw line. He paused for a split second, looking into your eyes before dropping his head down again and capturing your lips, this time pushing his tongue between your lips. You accepted, parting your lips for him, trying to ignore the burning feeling in your stomach.

He left your mouth to place light kisses up your cheekbone and to your hairline then down to your earlobe, nipping at it with the lightest touch. Your skin prickled, and you instinctively wrapped your fingers in his dark hair, arching your back ever so slightly to give him better access. He continued to kiss down your neck, reaching your collarbone and giving it a supple bite. The softest of moans escaped your mouth and the fearful burning had turned into fluttering bliss. 

“Good girl..” he cooed.

You felt his length rubbing against your thigh, which brought another wave of panic to the forefront of your mind. Your arms began to tingle, coming in unwanted flashes like lightning, cracking over your body. Sensing your tension, Sherlock ran his hands into your hair, pulling gently while he moved his lips back up to kiss directly under your chin. The mix of dominance and gentility brought your attention back to the detective as he worked his fingers through your hair, giving you a gentle massage while his lips trailed back down to your chest.

You wriggled against his thigh, suddenly feeling the need for friction between your legs. You felt a chuckle vibrate against you while he responded to your musings by rubbing his thigh against your dampening sex. Sherlock untwined his fingers and slipped both hands under your back, pulling the zipper down while using his teeth to pull the fabric down your chest. Your strapless, black lace bra popped out of the dress, bringing a low moan from his throat. You smiled as his nimble fingers worked their way back up to your shoulders, massaging the muscles while his lips left open-mouthed kisses on the top of your breasts. His fingers danced their way back down once more, unhooking your bra and pulling it from your body. You gasped as his teeth grazed your nipple and you rutted against his thigh harder, the slow pace was taking its toll on you, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could last.

Sherlock gave your untouched nipple a feather light kiss before rocking back on his knees, pulling your dress down your legs and off completely, tossing it behind him carelessly. The tile was cold against your bare skin, you motioned Sherlock to come back down to you but he shook his head, though his eyes seemed to be devouring your naked flesh.

“Touch yourself” he commanded.

“What?” you stammered, completely caught off guard by his request.

“I don’t mean pleasure yourself, just, touch yourself. Your skin, your lips, anything, remind yourself what it feels like” he said while shrugging his jacket off.

You bit down on your bottom lip, unsure of what the point of all this was. You pouted, grabbing at him with your hands but he smacked them away, tutting at you before pointing to your body.

“I will go no further unless you listen to me” he said sternly.

You sighed and brought your hands up your legs, running them along the smooth skin of your calves. Sherlock began humming; his baritone voice filled the apartment and eased you as your hands roamed over your body. You shut your eyes and allowed Sherlock’s voice to be the only thing in your darkened world, even the roar of the fire disappeared to the background of his tune. You dragged your hands over your knees and up your thighs, digging your nails in cautiously as you roamed over your middle. You began to arch and writhe under your own touch as you walked your fingers up your navel, rubbing small circles around your hipbones before exploring your sides. You turned your head and moaned while you traced over your nipples and up to your collarbone before attacking your neck, grasping at it gently.

You had barely noticed the silence, too entwined in your own musings until your felt Sherlock’s large hands prying your thighs open. Your eyes popped open only to shut again as his tongue pressed against your folds. You yelped and reached down for his head, caressing his soft curls while he left wet kisses up and down your sex, leaving the inside untouched. You felt his fingers rubbing into your legs while he sucked on your lips, pushing them open for a split second, only to allow a shallow breath in before he took his mouth away. By the time he made his way back up to your face you were soaking, grinding against his clothed erection in agony.

“Sherlock” you sighed, grabbing at his belt.

“Shh” he hissed, grabbing your hands and placing them down at your sides.

You let out an annoyed whine while he unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it aside. You watched him come close to you again, laying himself on top of you as you happily reached for his shoulders, aching to touch him. His chest felt warm and velvety against your own bare skin and you quickly took the opportunity to run your hands up and down his back, loving the way his muscles flinched under your touch. He began kissing around your mouth, avoiding your actual lips as you sighed and whimpered against open air. He ran his hands down your sides then between your two bodies to pinch your nipples, rolling the sensitive buds between his fingers. You gasped and arched into him, digging your nails into his back as the first sign of your orgasm rolled over you like a tidal wave. He continued to pinch and pull at your nipples, finally claiming your lips as your orgasm peaked, wrapping your legs around his waist to grind against him while you drenched the waistline of his jeans.

You lay in a daze, panting as he moved down between your legs again, this time taking his pants and yanking them off, throwing them so that they joined the rest of your clothes in a pile by the fire. He grabbed your legs, placing your them on his shoulders, giving each ankle a kiss as he raked his fingers down your calves. He slowly inched his way forward until his face hovered over your hips and your thighs rested perfectly over his shoulders. You gasped as he kissed down your sex, nipping tenderly at your swollen lips, barely letting his teeth graze your clit. You tried to buck your hips forward but he grabbed your hips and pressed them into the floor, locking you in place. You felt your legs and pelvis tingle, your muscles twitched involuntarily as his tongue probed around your entrance, flicking the tip around then sliding it back up to your clit. 

You lolled your head from side to side as he teased your drenched cunt, removing one of his hands from your hips to press two fingers into your entrance. He began to hum against your clit as he slid two fingers in, coating them in your juices before pulling them out slowly and rotating them in teasing circles around your entrance. The tiny tingles turned into electrifying shocks of pure euphoria, his lips suddenly clamped down on your clit as he slid his two fingers deep inside you, angling them so that they brushed against your collection of sensitive nerves, sending you spiraling over the edge for the second time. You pulled his hair as you came hard in his mouth; his tongue eagerly lapped your juices up as you rode out your orgasm. 

You were dizzy and tingling all over, you felt your legs wobbled as he slid them down gently, giving you a devious grin. He grabbed your forearms, yanking you into his lap and a sudden rush of energy came barreling through your body. Suddenly you couldn’t get enough of him, you grinded your hips against his rock hard cock while your lips attacked every inch of his skin. You drug your nails down his back while his hands wrapped around your waist, lifting you up and lining his cock up with your slick cunt. He rutted his cock back and forth teasingly against your opening, pulling mewling moans and strangled cries from you as you tried to push your hips down. He finally gave in to his own needs, gripping at your hips and slamming you down on his throbbing cock.

You both moaned in unison as he filled you up to the hilt, not allowing any part of his cock to be outside your body. You rotated your hips in circles, trying your damndest to make sure he felt every part of you. He found your lips and bit down on your bottom one as he bucked up into you, sliding his hands down to cup your ass, digging his nails into your sweaty cheeks as you rode him mercilessly. Your hands were everywhere as he matched your rhythm, making sure your hips met in perfect unison, creating a symphony of euphoric sounds.

Something in you broke free, you suddenly felt more alive than you had felt in god knows how long. You slammed him into the ground, never letting his cock leave your soaked cunt. You felt his cock twitch as you lifted yourself up slightly, planting your feet and spreading your legs so that nothing but your pussy hit him as you rode him. He bit his lip and pinched your clit while his other hand scratched at the floor. The momentum of your arousal took you by surprise, you could feel your exhaustion but you were stuck chasing one high after the next as you rode him hard, clenching your muscles around his cock so that he could do nothing but groan and scream profanities. You felt his cock twitch as his eyes popped open, his mouth formed an ‘o’ and he slammed you down onto him as he pulsated inside you. Your mixture dripped down from you, coating his dick and your thighs with your combined arousal.

Your legs finally gave in as you pulled yourself off, falling sideways to face the windows. You reached for your pillow, throwing it under your head and reached your hand behind you, giving Sherlock a pat on the chest. He was breathing harder than you were, it was erratic and heavy, as if he had just finished running around London twice. You smiled and watched the snowfall, breathing in the scent of sweat and sex.

After a few minutes you felt his body spoon against yours, pulling your back tightly to his chest and wrapping the blanket around you both. He placed a kiss on your head, wrapping his fingers around yours.

“Sleep” was all he muttered before he himself succumbed to his exhaustion.


	21. Let her go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so now that all the holiday craziness is over I can finally start updating everything.
> 
> This chapter is a bit of a filler, there is cute fluff with Sherlock, and the next one will reveal a lot more insight on the main plot, so more twists ahead!
> 
> Also, I am planning on doing a cute Christmas chapter, I attempted to keep up with the actual holidays but I clearly failed.
> 
> Enjoy ^.^

It’s hard, really hard actually, when your past can just stare you directly in the face. It’s daunting, sometimes a horrific experience, it makes you shudder all over and leaves a sour taste in your mouth, like acid burning through your tongue. That’s exactly what you were experiencing this very moment, like a picture book being flipped open for the first time in years, memories came whizzing past, attacking you like canon fire you were unprepared for. It took John literally pulling you from the cab for you to step foot on your parent’s old property, the brownstone stood tall and elegant like you remembered. The garage door stood at in front of you at the bottom of the sloped driveway, holding up the rest of the three-story house, the concrete stairs wound from the hedges that were recently trimmed and reached the large, red double-doors guarded by a gold, cast-iron fence. 

Your eyes scanned the rest of the street, searching for any old neighbors that might make this trip even more unpleasant. The street was unusually quiet for the morning, few joggers passed you by in their black running pants and tight pullovers, they raced down the street too engulfed in the music blasting from their headphones to notice your odd group. You looked back up at Sherlock who had been standing in front of you with his back facing you; there was no wind this early in the morning, so his lithe figure stood still as a statute. You looked up at the third story window, biting your bottom lip and praying you could convince Sherlock to leave the rest of the house alone.

“So…” John said nudging you forward.

“What? Oh yeah, uh lets go through the garage” you stuttered.

You led the two men down the driveway to the white box on the side, flipping it open and punching in the key code. The door rattled then squeaked itself open slowly, it sounded overly loud in the silence that seemed to be surrounding you. The red paneled door groaned as it pulled itself all the way up, revealing your mother’s car under a beige dust protector. You pressed your lips together and willed your knees not to wobble as you made your way into the garage, eyeing the car with a half broken heart. You stopped at the side of it, the side mirror was peeking out from its cover and the faintest tint of pink in a lip shaped kiss stood prominently in the center. Your heart suddenly sank to the floor, your chest tightened to the point where it felt a large snake was wrapping around you, squeezing you till your lungs burst. 

“This is the car you’re selling then?” Sherlock asked running his hand under the sheet.

“Don’t touch it!” you yelped, smacking his hand away.

Sherlock stood stunned and you felt your cheeks getting hot at your outburst. You spun around and headed towards the door, flinging it open. You felt a smaller hand on your shoulder, John’s cologne wafted past your nose and you sighed into his touch. 

“You okay?” John asked as he stepped into the hallway with you. “I know it was your mother’s car, but since you were selling it I thought it didn’t mean much to you” 

“It’s…complicated” you replied biting your bottom lip.

“Isn’t everything?” John said with a wiry smile. “You know, you could always _talk_ about it to someone. You know like your fellow doctor friend, or boyfriend.”

“You’re my boyfriend?” you asked said sarcastically.

John rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to respond, but he was cut short by a thud coming from above. You both turned to look at the ceiling and walked towards where the sound came from. You gritted your teeth as you both made your way into the house; you had entered through the garage to avoid this exact predicament. The thin hallway opened up to a large entryway, the red double doors facing you on the opposite side of the house. The dark wood floor was freshly polished, fresh cut roses had been placed on the side table near the door giving the room a romantic aroma. The white-carpeted steps were thick and could fit at least four people side-by-side on each step until it forked up to the second story on each side. You placed your hand on the banister and peered upwards, noticing a black shoe mark on the center stair.

“Who the-“ you whispered 

“Sherlock” John groaned as he began ascending up the stairs.

You wanted to scream; the bastard had snuck away and apparently picked the lock for the front door to continue his own agenda. You followed John up the steps, blocking as many memories as you could. You tried to focus on the most intimate details of the carpet, each little pattern and string so that you could maybe make it out of this house without a nervous breakdown. You and John came to the fork in the stairs, met eyes, and nodded, you taking the right set and John taking the left. You looked at the picture frames hanging on the wall, all containing stock photos of fake families and happy, unrelated children. The realtor had staged the house which made being here even more creepy than before, it was one thing to go into a home riddled with horrid memories, but someone putting fake memories in was even worse. 

You traced your finger mindlessly along the yellow stripped wallpaper like you used to, chanting the mantra ‘breathe, it’s just a house, _breathe_ ’ in your head so you wouldn’t faint. The temperature dropped a few degrees when you got to the second floor and the lights were off, giving it an eerie look like the dark hallway from the ball. You felt your nerves sky rocketing, you were near the edge of a panic attack when you began to speed walk down the hallway, checking each door as you went. You jiggled each golden handle, all locked, except for the last door on the left. You gulped and turned away from it, willing Sherlock with your mind to come from the other side of the house with John, begging him to be anywhere but through that door. You came to the end of the hallway, somewhat composed but a sinking feeling was washing over you like a tidal wave.

“Sherlock?” you called irritably. 

Silence.

“ _Sher_ lock!” you yelled a little louder. “Where the fuck are you, you crazy, curly-headed twat.” 

“Sociopath” said his voice, coming from the one place you did not want it to be.

You froze, your legs turned to led and your body stiffened. You closed your eyes and tried to remember your breathing exercises, you tried to picture anyplace but here, in this moment. You wanted to run and hide, forget this whole mess and pretend nothing in the past few months had happened. That was your thing, to run when the world seemed to be crashing down. Dealing with things was not your greatest attribute, hell you don’t even think you were born with that ability. Ever since you had moved into that basement, everything you had done so well to push down seemed to be bubbling over, running to you and knocking you down, leaving you broken and numb. You knew eventually you would have to deal with everything, but all at once seemed a bit over the top.

You opened your eyes, suddenly full of fire. You didn’t want to be this frozen lump anymore, there was nothing great about a woman who could not face her demons. You maybe had a few more than others, okay maybe a lot more than others, but all that did was make you stronger than most. You kicked your legs outwards, shaking feeling back into them before you turned towards the door. The door seemed to twist as you came closer, like Alice in Wonderland but you were smarter than Alice was, but there was defiantly nothing wonderful about this. You tried to get your eyes to focus, the door still looked distorted when you opened it; the stairs were lit by the dingy, cobweb covered bulbs hanging from the ceiling. The stairs were steep and dusty, they creaked and moaned as you walked up them towards the detective, who was staring out of the large window in the center of the room.

“C’mon Sherlock, this is the opposite of where we need to be” you said pulling at his sleeve. 

“We need to be right here” he said pulling you forward to the windowpane.

You braced your hands on the window, breathing heavily against the glass. The street bellow had gotten busier, couples holding hands and laughing, elder women walking their tiny yuppie dogs in pink sweaters with a scowl on their face, men talking into earpieces in fine tailored suits weaved around the slower people among the sidewalk. Warm hands snaked around your middle; you could feel him breathing heavily against your back. You wanted to scream but no words came out, you felt tears prickling the corner of your eyes, the walls felt like they were closing in on you, ready to crush you into a million pieces.

“Sherlock, please let me go” you croaked. 

“It’s just a window, ___” he said harshly.

“Sherlock, you don’t understand” you stuttered.

“It’s just a window” 

“Sherlock!” your tears were streaming freely now.

You felt his hands press on top of yours, your palms was sweating against the fogged glass, and there was a lump in your throat that you couldn’t swallow. You wanted to say so much but your mind was a blank slate. Sherlock rubbed his thumbs on the tops of your hands and began to hum the song he played on the violin when you had locked yourself in your flat during your recovery. A soothing blanket of warmth seemed to be falling over you, your breathing calmed down and the pit of your stomach began unknotting itself. You focused on the city below you; it looked beautiful under the morning light. You lost track of time, but it didn’t matter, because the world seemed to fall around you. It was just Sherlock, the window, and you. 

“When did you figure it out?” you asked softly.

“Awhile ago, you don’t hide as much as you think” he responded, nuzzling his nose into your hair. “Also her medical files weren’t hard to hack” 

“Sherlock” you huffed, finally pushing away from the glass to face him.

His lips curved in a half-smile, he used his body to push you against the glass, locking you between his arms. You looked up at him and ran your hands through his hair, interlocking them with his chocolate curls and pulled him down for a kiss. He pressed his body flat against you, taking over your lips with his and nipping at your bottom one.

“I need to get a squirt bottle” mumbled John from the doorway.

Sherlock spun around, cheeks slightly pink as he eyed John annoyed. John held up a small, black lockbox and motioned you forward. You gulped, fumbling for the keys that were in your back pocket to open it. You patted both pockets then flung your hands downward, digging into your back pockets to no avail.

“Fuck I lost the keys!” you wailed as you sank to your knees.

“No you didn’t” Sherlock said rolling his eyes. “I took them from you before you opened the garage door.” He stated while pulling them from his pocket and taking the box from John.

“Why did you come up here anyways?” John said, completely ignoring Sherlock’s clear kleptomania. 

“Testing a theory” Sherlock responded as he joined you on the floor, setting the box down with a loud thunk.

John raised an eyebrow while taking a seat next to you, watching Sherlock fumble with the lock. You felt the hairs on the back of your neck rise when the lock clicked open. You and John peered over Sherlock into the box, and neither of you were entirely sure what you were looking at. You reached in and grabbed a stack of manila folders, flipping through some of them before handing them to John. 

“What theory were you testing?” John asked as you stacked papers on top of his lap.

“That the window over there is the one ____’s jumped out of when she took her own life” Sherlock responded softly.

“Sherlock!” John shouted wide-eyed.

“She needed to face her fears, hiding from them clearly doesn’t work for her anymore” Sherlock said, completely unaware of why John seemed to be angry at him.

“It’s alright John, it kind of..helped, I guess” you said while rifling through the box. “After all weren’t you the one saying I should talk to someone?” 

“I suppose, but I didn’t know she..died that way. I would have been less pushy” John said, his face full of sadness.

You smiled and leaned your head on him, pulling your hands out of the box and resting on your heels. All that the box contained was stacks of papers with random numbers and dates. John was flipping through them, almost as confused as you were about their purpose. Sherlock, however, was inspecting the box as if it held the secret to the meaning of life.

“What did the guy at the bar say was in here?” John asked, squinting at one of the pages.

“Everything my mom wanted me to know, he was pretty vague.” 

“Ah ha!” Sherlock shouted gleefully.

You and John looked up to see the detective looking excitedly at a thin piece of metal he had pulled from the box.

“False bottom” he said with a proud smile.

You blinked and grabbed the box from him and pulled out a three blue, leather bound books the size of an address book. You thumbed through the pages, stopping in the middle; you recognized your mother’s handwriting. You smiled and ran your fingers down the pages, noting the dates were from before your parents had been married. You skimmed the top of the page and stopped when you saw the words ‘cerebral hemorrhage’.

“Shit” you said dropping the book on your lap.

“What? What is that?” John asked grabbing the book from your lap.

“I think..I think they’re my mom’s journals. Look at the dates, they’re from before my parents had even met.” You said pointing at the year. “That man said my mom was a surgeon, and just skimming through them, either she’s good at writing fiction or..or he was right” 

All three of you peered over at the tiny journals, questions filled up your mind as you picked up the other two and skimmed through them. The dates seemed to start from the time she was twenty-four until she was about twenty-nine and then they suddenly stopped. You flipped through the third ones reveling in the detail and tiny little drawings of surgical instruments on the sides. You felt like another piece of the puzzle had been put together, but at the same time a hundred more pieces appeared and seemed to not fit anywhere.

“We should get back to the hotel room” Sherlock said suddenly, grabbing up all the papers John had set aside.

“Sherlock?” John asked closing the journal and rising to his feet. 

The pair exchanged a glance you had seen before, as if they could read each others thoughts. You and John could do the same, but reading Sherlock was like trying to read German backwards on a unicycle. You grabbed the other journals and placed them in your inside coat pocket and followed the men down the stairs. You were practically running down them trying to keep up with Sherlock’s sudden sense of urgency. You made your way back towards the garage door; you wanted one last look at your mom’s car before it was gone. 

The door creaked open and the light from the sun was now shining through the windows, the car gleamed in the sunlight where Sherlock had pulled the cover up earlier. Something came over you, a rush of need and you ripped the cover off the car. It was beautiful, just as she had left it, your tiny lip imprints from the last time you rode in it together, etched in the side mirror. You traced your hand along the cherry red leather, leaning into the driver’s side seat, smelling the headrest. It was the faintest of smells, but you could still get a whiff of her shampoo and perfume, you closed your eyes and leaned your head against it.

“Are you entirely sure you want to sell this?” John said eying the car lovingly. “She is beautiful” 

“Yes” you breathed, patting the car door. “I need to let her go” you said with a sad smile.

You pushed yourself off the car and gave one last look at it, kicking the cover into the corner. Sherlock was standing outside the garage; he had warmth in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before, like he was proud of you. You smiled back at him and pulled John away from the car so you could close the garage door. The sun was peaking around the other brownstones; you saw the glimmering car fade as the garage door squeaked close. You sighed and gave the house a little wave, turning on your heel, finally feeling just a little bit more put together.


	22. Steam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry sorry sorry for the hiatus.   
> I've been thinking about this story for awhile and I finally have it mapped out the way I want, because I work backwards and have the ending all planned but getting to it has been a bit of a roadblock for me.
> 
> Fluff & Plot thickening, dun dun dun.
> 
> :3

Sherlock was seeing spots in front of his eyes; he had never stared at a computer screen for such a long period of time. The journals he had ‘borrowed’ from you had been the last piece he needed to put together the intricate web that Luca had created. The video clip of Harper’s tragic death had been replayed so many times he could create a sonnet based off of pure memory. The thick black journal containing seemingly random numbers lay open on his keyboard, his hair was a mess and the morning sun was peaking into the window. He ruffled his hair and pressed his fingertips to his temples, scanning over the multiple tabs he had displaying various bits of information. He had it; he finally had everything figured out. All he needed to do was find Luca and the nightmare scenario would be over, and he could finally move on.

“Sherlock when was the last time you slept?” John’s sleepy voice coasted from the open door of his room to where the detective sat.

He said nothing as he rose from the computer chair and rubbed his eyes. He looked at the clock on the bottom of his computer, suddenly startled by the date. It was the day before Christmas and he still hadn’t figured out if he should get you a present or not. He couldn’t pick a stance, his detective brain wanted nothing more than to solve the case and the elated feeling of completing it equaled the feelings he had when he was around you. He squared his shoulders, flopped lazily onto the couch, and gave a dramatic sigh.

“Have you been working on her case the whole time?” John asked as he sat down at the desk and stared into Sherlock’s computer screen.

“Yes and I’ve finished everything” Sherlock said as if it was the easiest thing in the world. “Now all that’s left is to find Luca and be done with all of this.” 

“Hmm, this is probably the longest case we have ever been on” John said matter-of-factly. 

“What are you talking about?” Sherlock’s ears perked up at that statement, he hadn’t realized until now that he really had been working solely on this case for what seemed like an eternity.

“It’s been months, when was the last time we even worked on something this long?” John said turning to face the detective. 

Sherlock sat up abruptly with a frown forming on his face. John was right, he had never spent this much time on one case, or one _person_ for that matter. It was his involvement, his personal connection with the subject, with you, that clouded his judgment. The situation at the ball was the first sign that he was getting too close, his mind was a sharp fast functioning machine but you had clogged everything up, wires crossed where they shouldn’t causing unwelcomed sparks and hidden urges he had long suppressed. 

“So are we waiting till after the holidays to tell her?” John asked breaking his concentration. 

“What? No, we aren’t telling her anything. She doesn’t need to know.” Sherlock said gruffly. 

“Sherlock, she thinks her dad tried to kill her. She should know the whole story, and that he wasn’t even her real dad.” John was now glaring at the detective with his arms crossed over his chest. “You need to say something.”

“Why me? If you feel so strongly about it why don’t you tell her” Sherlock shot back.

“What’s gotten into you? You’re grumpier than usual” John retorted. 

Sherlock turned over so his face was digging into the rough fabric of the couch. He inhaled the scent of cigarettes and familiar smells mixed with a tiny trace of your perfume. There was something churning in his mind that radiated down to the pit of stomach making him feel sick, what was once a small argument had turned into a full blown war within himself. He hadn’t been on other cases in months and hadn’t realized how intertwined he had become with you. Willing himself to get the much needed sleep his body ached for, he shut off his brain and drifted into a dreamless slumber.

\--------------------------------------------------------

It was dark and snowing by the time you exited the hospital. Thirty-six hours inside a building can drive a person mad, but to you it was heaven. You inhaled the brisk air, letting it fill your chest as you walked towards your flat. Nights like these seemed the perfect time to walk home, it was a few blocks but your therapist (whom you only saw so the hospital would let you operate again) had told you that you needed time to yourself to clear your mind. You were reluctant at first but since New York you began to look forward to your alone time. The streetlamps illuminated the brightness of the snow, making the world around you a soft grey color. Tiny twinkling lights lit up buildings and wrapped around barren trees, oversized wreaths hung on doors, the smell of cinnamon seemed to engulf the city. 

After everything had sold, the finality of it was gut wrenching and freeing at the same time. You were able to pay off your student loans from medical school and had more money left over than you knew what to do with. A very tiny part of you wanted to have one last party like you used too, well maybe not _that_ crazy but it could be a last good-bye to your drama plagued life. Your father was dead, Luca had been scared off and nothing strange or looming seemed to be following you. You felt a lump rise in your throat followed by a buried fear that you always got once things were going well for you. It was always in the back of your mind, you were so used to the sky always falling it made you more nervous when it was staying up where it should be.

The crunch of the snow snapped you out of your thoughts; you were a few feet away from your flat. You could see the light on in Sherlock’s apartment and it hit you that you hadn’t seen him in a few days. He was sucked into his work and you the same, it was a good thing that you both understood each other’s passions. Tomorrow was Christmas and John was apparently a big sucker for holidays and had invited you to their Christmas party they always threw. It baffled you that Sherlock would allow this sort of thing, the vision of Sherlock in an ugly sweater with a santa hat made you smile, and you couldn’t wait to force one upon his head. 

You pushed the door open to your flat and bounded down the stairs to your door. You spent about five minutes undoing all the added locks Sherlock had forced you to put in your door, stating that even if you’re never home it makes it harder for someone to break in and wait for you to come home so they could kill you. You set your bag down on the counter and stripped off your clothes as you walked to your bedroom, leaving a trail of pants, leggings, socks and other layers of clothing along the hallway. You sighed at your bed, it looked warm and cozy, the perfect thing to end a long shift. You threw your phone on the bed and grabbed one of the journals from your nightstand, made yourself comfortable against the plethora of pillows and opened the bookmarked page.

‘October 21st.

_I’ve spent the better part of the morning studying for my oral boards but I can’t stop thinking about him. His hands, his eyes, his perfect smile. His offer seems almost unreal, all this time I should be focusing on past cases and what to do when your patient is suffering from a perforated bowel, not about handsome men. Handsome and dangerous._

Was she talking about your father? She had stopped writing the year in her last journal, but you could tell by the timeline she was already engaged to your dad. Was she having an affair? The thought had never occurred to you, his reaction after her death was angry and he always lashed out at you. If she was with another man, wouldn’t he be happy that she died? Or was it that he was angry she had killed herself because she was in love with someone else but couldn’t be with him? You shook your head and tried to read on, it was like you were talking to her again and your heart ached every time you turned the page, knowing it was all borrowed time. You were on her last journal, the last bit of your mother you had left. It was like losing her all over again. 

_I can’t tell anyone, not even Lucy. She wouldn’t understand, she loves Demetrio even more than I do_

There was someone else. You vaguely remember your mom mentioning the name Lucy; she was always on the phone late at night in the kitchen, whispering softly into the receiver. She had said that name before but when you brought it up she acted oblivious. Your heart sunk into your stomach, none of this made any sense. Who was this person, was it that creepy club owner? Who was Lucy? Did this man steal her from your father just to break her heart years later, was he the reason she was gone? 

_I can’t fall in love while being in love, right? Is it possible to love a complete stranger? I’ve always been on the sidewalk, the safe side. I can’t help it but want to step over the line and into the street, it’s the thrill I’m chasing. The thrill of the unknown, god I can’t make up my mind. All I know is that I’m going to fail these boards and then I won’t be a certified surgeon and then the deal would be off the table anyways, so I might as well put this issue aside and study these case files I’ve been ignoring._

_Side note- If asked about pulmonary embolism one of the new studies shows it can be caused by air, fat or talc in drugs from intravenous drug users; deep vein thrombosis still leading cause._

Your mind was swimming again, clouds and thoughts kept bumping into each other like a massive train wreck that you couldn’t seem to stop. Deep breathes, one, two, three and still not helping. You threw the covers off your legs and rolled off your bed, reaching for the nearest article of clothing you could find. Your bathrobe, whatever, Sherlock had seen you naked anyways. You flung your door open and raced up the steps towards the boys’ flat, shoving the door open with a loud bang. John jumped so high at the sound he nearly knocked over the chair he was sitting on. Sherlock was at his desk on the computer, shocker, and didn’t even bother to look over his shoulder at you.

“Nice to see you too” you muttered as you padded over to him. 

Sherlock’s fingers zipped over to his mouse and you saw him exiting out of multiple files. You cocked your eyebrow and sat on his desk facing him, swinging your leg across the other, waiting for his response. You watched his eyes slide to the side, glance at you, then back at his computer. 

“You look..nice” John said as he bent over to pick up his book. “Did you just wake up?”

“What? Oh no, I just..this was the closest thing I had to me.” You replied and pulled your robe closed a bit more. “I was reading my mom’s journals and I was wondering, if Sherlock was done looking at porn or whatever, if he could help me.” 

“I wasn’t looking at porn” the detective said nonchalantly. 

“Well why won’t you even acknowledge me?” you said with an added edge of annoyance.

Sherlock leaned back in his chair and turned his head up to face you, his eyes took a bit longer to reach your face. You rolled your ankle and allowed the end of your robe to fall open at your knees, you hadn’t realized how long it had been since you had felt him on you, inside you. Sherlock tapped his fingers on the desk, his eyes met yours and you realized he was not looking at you as he used to, as if he wanted you. He was just..looking at you, like any other person on any other day, as if your mere presence irritated him to no end. 

“So um, I think my mom had an affair” you were thrown off by his gaze, it was unsettling. “Can you look up how long she was a surgeon for?”

“I already have all that information, I’m surprised you’re just now asking for it” Sherlock rose and bent over his laptop, shuffling a few papers before grabbing a manila folder and shoving it towards you.  
You cleared your throat and hoped off the desk, you were suddenly feeling a bit unwanted. You stuttered some version of a ‘thank you’ and turned towards the door.

“Uh do you want tea or anything?” John’s voice was uneasy, similar to how you entire body felt right now.

“N-n-o thanks, I’m exhausted I should probably get some sleep.” You turned and waved to John but he was too busy glaring daggers at Sherlock whom had taken a seat back at his desk. 

You felt tears forming at the corners of your eyes, when the fuck was he going to decide how he felt. You practically tripped down the stairs with the speed you were descending; suddenly you wanted nothing more than to be as far away from them as possible. Once inside your flat you turned and locked every latch and bolt on your door, five to be exact, you shed your robe and flung yourself back onto your bed. The night was silent and chilly, the sound of the streets had died out and the aching loneliness that had been lost for months came creeping back into your bones. You sighed and turned on your stomach, hanging your head over the bed and laid the file on the floor, spreading the few pages out on the hardwood. You strained your eyes trying to read the small print but the angle of your head and the pure annoyance in your heart seemed to blur everything. 

“___?” Sherlock’s deep voice penetrated the silence so suddenly you nearly had a heart attack. 

“What the fuck, how did you get in here!?” you pushed yourself up onto the bed and stared at him dumbfounded. 

His hair was still a mess, dark circles graced his pale features and his shirt looked like it hadn’t been washed in two days. Your anger dissipated with the oncoming glow of his eyes, the resentment seemed to have faded but you weren’t entirely sure why it was there in the first place. You sat cross-legged on your bed waiting for him to speak; the ticking of your clock on the wall was the only sound in the room. 

“I thought those locks would keep people out.” you said dryly. 

“Well, yes.” Sherlock looked perplexed as if you had asked the dumbest question in the world.

“So how did you get in?” 

“By picking the locks.”

“Then how does that protect me?!” You wailed, putting your face in your hands.

“I’m not trying to kill you.” Sherlock said with a snort.

You felt the creak of the bed under his weight; he was so close you could smell him. Normally he smelt of cigarettes, which of course he did now, but you could tell he hadn’t slept or showered in a few days and that was not what you wanted your bed to smell like. You groaned and peeled yourself off the comforter, grabbing his wrist and pulling him along with you. 

“What are we going?” Sherlock bellowed, half resisting your yanking.

“You smell like crap, if you want in my bed then you’re taking a fucking shower.” you sounded a bit meaner than you had intended, whoops.

You pulled him once more and to your relief he allowed you to yank him off the bed. He followed without a word as you two stepped into your small bathroom, the sound of buttons popping caught your attention and you watched him from the corner of your eyes as you turned on the hot water. Large hands made their way around your waist, his forefingers drew circles around your belly and his chest hair tickled the back of your neck. 

“What were you looking at on your computer?” you asked as his mouth made its way to your neck.

“Porn” he muttered before taking a nip at your flesh.

“Liar” you replied, sighing and leaning your back into his chest.

“Want me to prove it?” he sang while his talented fingers slipped under your bra straps and pulled them down your shoulders.

You loved when he was like this, but the feeling you got when you had entered their flat had been nothing short of resentment. You tried to push it away and let the warmth of his tongue on your skin overtake your underlying worry while the steam from the shower engulfed both of you in warm bliss.


End file.
